


Congratulations, Gentlemen

by Qrimson



Series: Marauders Mystery Tour [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, First Year Shenanigans, Friendship, Gen, Marauders, Marauders Friendship, Marauders' Era, References to the Beatles, but especially Wizard Angst, canon-divergent, semi-canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-20
Updated: 2018-04-21
Packaged: 2019-03-07 07:04:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 14
Words: 76,762
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13429428
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Qrimson/pseuds/Qrimson
Summary: In the ‘60s, four charismatic kids took Britain by storm. At Hogwarts in the ‘70s, another Fab Four starts their first steps toward infamy — if, of course, they can actually manage to make friends with each other.A Marauders origin story, loosely influenced by the Beatles’ “Please Please Me.”





	1. I Saw Her Standing There

**Author's Note:**

> After saying "congratulations," the appropriate response is "thank you." So before this begins...the world's largest thank you imaginable to [chchchchcherrybomb](http://archiveofourown.org/users/chchchchcherrybomb/pseuds/chchchchcherrybomb): My beta, best friend, favorite bean, and source of all my best Patronus-creating memories.
> 
> This fic includes a tiny amount of canon-divergence, with butterfly effects.
> 
> "Congratulations, gentlemen. You've just made your first No. 1." - George Martin, "Please Please Me" recording sessions, Nov. 1962.

The girl with the green eyes was already at the door of the compartment before James Potter even heard her approach. “Excuse me,” she said, knocking on the window pane. “Is anyone sitting with you?”

James had never been so grateful to say no to anyone.

“Good,” the girl said, sliding the door half-closed behind her. “Don’t talk to me.”

Oh.

James followed her command without even thinking about it, staring dumbfounded as she shuffled into the seat opposite him and curled up in the corner, looking out the window at the English countryside as it flew by.

This was not the arrangement James had expected, to put it mildly. He’d known that he would probably end up sitting next to strangers on the train — most of the kids in Godric’s Hollow were younger, and he wasn’t friendly with any of the others, first-year or otherwise. So after he said goodbye to his mum and dad, he’d just picked a carriage at random and decided that it made the most sense to just see who showed up.

Well, this girl had showed up. But surprise: She was boring and sad. Congratulations, James, you’ve won the jackpot.

Except…She wasn’t boring, not really. Something about her made James want to speak anyway, make her tell him why she was so upset. And that didn’t really make sense to him.

Out of nowhere, she turned to look back at him, bright green eyes locked onto his own hazel ones. He’d never really noticed a girl’s eyes before. They were bloodshot, crimson lines ricocheting out from the verdant irises. Yet for all that…

She looked away again.

James shifted anxiously. He was not going to last until they got to Hogwarts in silence. He was a very chatty person. He knew this about himself because he had determined that he was much more self-aware than the other 11-year-olds in Godric’s Hollow. And his mother explicitly said that to him whenever he was bothering her.

A boy burst in, rude and noisy where the girl had been rude and quiet. “Hey, is it fine if I stay here a bit?”

The girl looked back out the window when he started speaking, so James took it upon himself to answer. “Sure, I guess. Sit by me though. She wants some privacy.”

“Oh,” the boy said, looking at her like she was a frog on display. “Alright then.”

He sat down next to James, seats squeaking in complaint as he unexpectedly crashed into them. His hair was as black as James’s, but cut short and close to the scalp. Significantly less messy than his own mop. He was a bit tall for his age, but slightly gangly — James suspected the boy was in the midst of quite a growth spurt.

“Nice to meet you,” he said, extending his hand. “I’m Sirius. Sirius Black.”

“Pleasure,” James replied. “I’m James Potter. You been running around the train since we set out from King’s Cross?”

“Oh, Merlin, no,” Sirius said. “My mates a few compartments up are driving me mental. Figured I’d see if I could get some better company. Looks like I got it half right.”

The girl didn’t seem to respond to Sirius’s near-insult.

“You’re one of _the_ Blacks, right?” James didn’t really mean to do _this_ — the whole bloodline measuring thing. But old habits died hard. His parents were always big talkers about Muggleborn equality around the house, but whenever they ended up at dinner parties in Godric’s Hallow, it was the same names around the table. Potter. Mulciber. Rowle. Macmillan. Fudge. James felt like he actually remembered encountering a excitable middle-aged man with the surname Black at one of the Mulcibers’ holiday parties — maybe the one where Seth tried to jinx his stockings?

Sirius made a face somewhere between a proud smile and a grimace. “Of course,” he said. “Heir to the whole business too, unless there’s some cousin somewhere we don’t know about. Don’t remind my cousin Narcissa if you bump into her in passing; she’s terribly ill-tempered about it. Which is quite stupid since she’s the youngest Black girl anyway, but what do I know?”

“I think I’ve got a distant cousin who’s technically a Black? His name’s Edwin…Edwin Potter, of course, but his mum, Dorea, was originally a Black.”

“Yeah, that sounds right,” Sirius said. “I’ve got a great-aunt named Dorea, but we’ve never met. They live on the Continent somewhere now.”

“I hope Edwin went with,” James said. “He came to Christmas one year. 10, 15 years older than me, but he was an idiot. Got in a fight with me because I wouldn’t agree Royston Idlewind deserved to be sacked for his play during the World Cup. I was six.”

They both chuckled a little at that. Then a hush fell over the train car, all three children wandering within their own minds.

Sirius was the first to break the silence. “So…it’s okay if I say all this pureblood posturing is bollocks, right?”

James was so surprised he burst out laughing, nearly falling out of his seat. Sirius joined in a moment later, both of them heedless of the girl on the other side of the carriage.

“Merlin’s beard, I’m so glad you said something,” James finally wheezed. “I mean, I’m _proud_ to be a part of my family—”

“Oh, of course,” Sirius gasped, “me too.”

“But I live in Godric’s Hollow, and we go to these other people’s homes, and there’s practically shrines! To a name! We live next door to some Abbotts, and their daughter Delia — she’s a second-year — she showed me this book they had, tracing their family history all the way back to practically the Stone Age. Because, you see, ‘some of the Abbotts were not so particular, so it was important to know who the _real_ pure-blood Abbotts were.’”

Sirius laughed at that too, holding his side. “If you think a book is ridiculous, you should come visit me in London sometime. My parents have a _tapestry_.”

“They do not.”

“Swear to die,” Sirius replied, raising his right arm with an expression of mock severity on his face. “Full family tree, going back eight, nine generations maybe? And you haven’t even heard the best part. My mother’s taken to burning off the blood traitors, just to keep the tapestry pure too!”

That sent James and Sirius both into another fit of giggles. But just when James was starting to catch his breath again, a boy burst into their compartment without a word of introduction. He was already wearing his school robes, a fitting complement to his greasy and stringy black hair.

“I don’t want to talk to you.” The girl in their compartment had finally come out of her shell — clearly, she already knew this strange boy. Most likely, he was the cause of the tears James could now see reforming in her eyes.

James couldn’t hear the boy’s response though, and Sirius was talking again.

“So, what’s it like out in the country? You must know more wizards who aren’t related to you. My parents practically never invite anyone over.”

“Yeah, I guess.” James really wanted Sirius to shut up and let him listen better to the other two first-years in the compartment with them. But between the monosyllabic answers he provided to Sirius, all he could pick up was something about a letter Dumbledore sent her. Or her sister?

Sirius stopped talking for a moment, and James managed to finally pick up a full sentence. “You’d better be in Slytherin,” the greasy boy said, seemingly trying to cheer his companion up.

“Slytherin?” James said, almost surprising himself by speaking up. “Who wants to be in Slytherin? I think I’d leave, wouldn’t you?”

James could feel Sirius’s whole body shift beside him. The boy was looking at him with the strangest stony face. “My whole family has been in Slytherin.”

“Blimey,” James said faintly. He hadn’t known that about the Blacks, though it seemed obvious on second guess. “And I thought you seemed all right.”

Something about his reply made Sirius smile. “Maybe I’ll break the tradition,” he said, his tone of voice suggesting such a thing was extremely unlikely. The girl and greaseball opposite them were strangely silent as James and Sirius continued to speak. “Where are you heading, if you’ve got the choice?”

James grinned, lifting an invisible sword. “Gryffindor, where dwell the brave at heart! Like my dad.”

The greasy-haired boy gave a snort, and James whipped his head around to glare at him. “Got a problem with that?”

“No,” the boy responded with a sneer, “if you’d rather be brawny than brainy.”

James’s face flushed. He had half a mind to prove this kid’s point by beating him into a pulp — but Sirius delivered his own sort of punch first. “Where’re you hoping to go,” he said, contemptuously, “seeing as how you’re neither?”

James practically fell off the bench, laughing uncontrollably and turning in to face the corner of the compartment slightly. He liked this Sirius Black.

The opinion was not shared by their fellow traveler in the compartment. The girl leapt to her feet, furiously squinting at both him and Sirius. “Come on, Severus, let’s find another compartment.”

“Ooh, yes, let’s.” Sirius did a surprisingly passable parody of the girl’s voice, and James laughed again, though a bit more half-heartedly this time. The girl just blushed, and then scurried out of the apartment, head down, with Severus getting to his feet to follow her.

As he started to walk toward the door, a thought occurred to James. This kid was so out of it, he probably would barely notice if James slid the compartment door shut — but what he definitely wouldn’t notice was if James stuck his foot out just so to trip him—

And then he thought of that girl’s eyes, filled with tears.

He left his feet where they were, and Severus moved past him with an unhindered step.

“See ya, Snivellus!” Sirius shouted. He was getting up now, moving to take a seat opposite James. “See, now this is nice,” he said, stretching out. “Now there’s no one left to bother us in this compartment.”

Sirius had spoken too soon. A scrawny boy poked his head through the door, and James recognized him instantly: Seth Mulciber, one of the boys he’d known in Godric’s Hollow. Their fathers were friends of a sort — all sorts of pureblood connections, formed over years of socializing — which meant that James and Seth had been forced to play together numerous times over the years. Neither had enjoyed it.

“Thought I heard your voice, Sirius,” Seth was saying. “See you found the scum of the class already.”

James realized with a jolt that Seth and Sirius already seemed to know each other too — fairly well, from the sound of it.

“Hey Seth,” Sirius said. He didn’t sound especially happy to see the other boy, but the sneering tone he’d used to address Severus was suddenly absent. “Done testing your luck with fifth-years, I see?”

“Oh, come on, Sirius,” Seth replied. “All I said was that they ought to be ashamed of themselves, having such blood traitors for parents. If they were decent, they’d have agreed with us, same as you or I would if our parents turned out to be rotten.”

“Your parents _are_ rotten, and so are you.” James wasn’t just going to sit here and be ignored. He got to his feet and stared down Seth, even though he could see his righthand boy Ignatius Avery — thick in both brains and brawn — lurking further down the corridor, a pair of small trunks with both their names on them at his feet. “Why don’t you get back where you came from?”

“Well, admittedly, it is a bit like Sirius said,” Seth said. “There are a bunch of pissed-off Muggle-lovers back at the front of the train, and we thought we might see where he wandered off to. Nice of him to find us an empty compartment for us.”

“This compartment isn’t empty,” James replied. “I’m here.”

“For now.” Seth pulled his wand out from within his black robes, and James instinctively followed suit, drawing his mahogany wand and holding it warily at his side.

“Watch it, Mulciber.”

“What are you going to do, Potter, sprout flowers around my feet? I can’t imagine your goody-two-shoes of a father letting you learn a simple jinx, much less something that might actually hurt me.”

James’s knuckles tightened around his wand. True, he didn’t know much, but he could do something to Seth, at least. The problem was in what Seth might do back.

“So much congestion, there’s nowhere to get my trolley through!”

An elderly witch was suddenly there beside Seth, practically pushing her cart of sweets into his side. “Boys, move along, unless you’re looking to buy.”

“Love to,” Seth said with a sneer. James noticed his wand was suddenly gone. “Come on, Potter, back out into the hall with the nice lady.”

Sirius was notably silent behind him, and James decided to press his luck. “We were here first, Mulciber. Maybe Sirius and I should stick around and you should find somewhere else to go.”

“I don’t think we want to do that,” Seth replied. “Do we, Sirius?”

“Um,” Sirius stammered. “Yeah, I guess this compartment is nice. So sure, you can come in.”

Oh, he was born for Slytherin alright. Blood boiling, James turned slightly to glare at Sirius before shouting at Seth again. “Look, whatever, I don’t care where you all sit. But my stuff is here, and I’m not moving it.”

“Come on, boys,” the trolley witch interjected, a menacing tone in her voice. “I don’t have all afternoon.”

“Why don’t you all come over here?”

A new voice entered the fight, coming from behind Seth. A shaggy-haired boy with a pale complexion was across the way, a small trunk in his hand. “My compartment’s empty, aside from me. You all come over here and I’ll just come across the way.”

Seth nodded with approval, and Ignatius snuck past him to carry the trunks into the other chamber. “Works for me. C’mon, Sirius. Let’s leave this traitor with his new friend.”

Sirius moved past James without a word, and the other student crossed back into James’s compartment a moment later. The trolley witch moved past all of them with a sniff and an upturned nose, and began pointedly asking the students a row ahead if they wanted snacks. Across the way, the compartment door slammed behind Sirius with a snap.

“Sorry about all that,” James said, finally having the grace to become embarrassed. “You didn’t have to give up your seat for me.”

“Not a problem,” said the other boy, inadvertently taking Sirius’s seat. “I was originally with a couple of sixth-years who went to the back of the train to neck. I figured it would be nice to have company.”

“What a coincidence. I was just thinking it would be nice to have some _new_ company.” James extended his hand. Third time’s the charm, he supposed. “I’m James Potter.”

“Hello, James,” the other boy said. “I’m Remus.”

* * *

James ended up chatting with Remus the entire journey to Hogwarts, the afternoon flying by. For all his protestations that he wasn’t used to having friends, Remus seemed as cool as anyone else he knew in Godric’s Hollow, even if he was prone to moody looks out the window when there was a momentary lull in the conversation. In some ways, he might actually have been an improvement — James often found the other boys in the village tediously snobby, especially after they’d spent a year away at Hogwarts.

A giant of a man had ordered them down a path toward a small fleet of boats, and James and Remus boarded with a pair of girls, one a black girl with a pair of silvery glasses that sparkled in the moonlight and the other decidedly Welsh, if that thick accent was any indication. As the four of them took their seats, the boat leapt forward under its own power, accompanied by the girls’ giggles.

“It’ll still take me a while to get used to all this,” Remus said, staring around at all the other boats.

James turned to look at him oddly. “I thought you said only your mum was a Muggle.”

“Oh, yeah,” Remus said. “My dad’s a wizard. He just…doesn’t do much magic around the house. There’s too many Muggles about.”

There were three, four times as many Muggle families in Godric’s Hollow as wizarding ones, and James’s father still levitated the furniture around every three weeks to make it easier for the house elves to dust. But he didn’t press it.

“Well, don’t get so distracted by the boats you forget to get a good look at the castle as we come around the lake,” James said. “My dad told me that’s the best part of the trip.”

No sooner had James said that when the cliffside ahead seemed to fall away, revealing Hogwarts itself: a massive, looming series of towers and parapets, all lit up in celebration. The girls stopped talking immediately, each gasping, and a big grin crept across Remus’s face.

“I always hoped I’d see this,” Remus said, seeming lost in his thoughts. “It’s so beautiful.”

“My older sister says there’s 777 windows in Hogwarts,” the Welsh girl said from behind them. “And there’s a light burning in all of them on the first night of the term.”

“I think there must have been only 776 originally,” James said with a smile. “Back in ’23 when my mum graduated, she and her friends accidentally blew out part of the wall in the Gryffindor common room celebrating and had to transfigure some broken wine bottles into a new window.”

Remus and the girls looked at him oddly. “Wait, your mum graduated from Hogwarts in 1923?” Remus finally said. “Mate … why aren’t you old?”

James laughed at the unexpected question; for all the complaining he did about his parents’ age, he forgot about it at the strangest times. “It’s my parents who are the old ones. My dad always says I ruined his retirement when he’s in a lousy mood. They’re both in their 60s now.”

Remus whistled softly. “Well, that’s certainly impressive. I’m an only child too. I think my parents wanted to have more kids later on once they were a bit more settled, but … well, it just never happened.”

There was something sad in Remus’s tone, and the conversation trailed off shortly after that. James found his mind drifting ahead to the feast later tonight, when they’d all be sorted. It occurred to him that some of his fellow first-years were probably a lot more nervous — the Muggle-borns, especially, but some of the half-bloods too no doubt. Having a long Gryffindor tradition in the family went a long way toward calming his nerves.

A few minutes later, the boats all docked, and the bearded giant led the whole mess of them up toward the school proper. They filed into the Entrance Hall in an erratic two-by-two formation, but to a one they scattered throughout the ornately decorated chamber as soon as they were past the first set of double doors.

“All right, everyone in,” the man said as he shut the doors behind them. “Stay here and try not t’ get into any trouble. Deputy headmistress’ll be along presently t’ collect ya.” And then he slipped out through a side door — one it seemed impossible for him to fit through — and was gone, leaving the 50-odd students to mingle in the hall.

Remus and James had stuck together, staking out one edge of a stone column far away from Sirius and Seth, but both of them were too nervous to say much. Instead, James found himself absent-mindedly scanning the 11-year-old faces in the crowd around them, realizing slowly that he was looking for the crying girl from the train.

He finally found her, sitting on the marble staircase at the front of the hall, talking to her friend the greaseball. He hadn’t cleaned up since James saw them last, but she had. Jumping for joy looked a stretch, but there was a smile on her face as she spoke to Severus. As James watched, the other boy muttered something inaudible, with a flick of his eyes across the crowd. She laughed in response, a distinctive, sharp sound that sliced through the noise of the room.

He wouldn’t understand why the sound of that laugh seemed to echo in his heart for many years.

“Attention all students!”

The stern voice jarred him, and he spun about in sync with the half-dozen other first-years idly musing on the castle. In front of the doors to the Great Hall was a woman, black hair pulled back with a severity that marked her definitively as a professor. Not a hair was out of place, as far as James could see, and the strictness of her appearance was lessened only by the incongruity of her dress robes: green and blue tartan, a pattern that was perhaps her only concession that she was not in truth the 60-year-old woman her demeanor implied.

“That’s got to be McGonagall,” Remus said, whispering into James’ ear. “My dad always tells me about the time she threatened to turn him into a candlestick for charming a piece of chalk to write obscenities on the blackboard.”

“Can’t be,” James hissed back. “I know wizards age slow, but there’s no way that professor is as old as she dresses.”

“Oh, she wasn’t his professor,” Remus replied. “She was a first-year who caught him doing it while she was on her way to class. Apparently she tried to follow through but —”

“Silence!” Whatever McGonagall had done decades ago, the present-day professor would have none of it tonight. The whole group fell silent immediately, Remus and Sirius included.

McGonagall pursed her lips and surveyed the group. “Thank you. In a few moments, I will lead you into the Great Hall. From there, you will be sorted into houses. While you remain at Hogwarts, your house will become your surrogate family. Each has their own private domain within the castle, where you will sleep, study and socialize. You will eat meals with your house, attend classes with them and — depending on your actions over the course of the year — succeed or fail with them.

“There are four houses: Gryffindor, Slytherin, Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw. Do not fret too much about which you will be placed in. Talented witches and wizards have come from each. But so too have foolish and arrogant ones, who see in their selection of house more license for pride than is merited.

“Now, take a moment to make yourselves presentable. Then we’ll enter the hall.” McGonagall took a moment to survey the mass of children in front of her — eyeballing a few of the more disheveled a bit longer than the others — and then slipped back into the Great Hall.

“Boy, she’s something else,” James said to Remus. “Are all the teachers like that here?”

“I certainly hope not. Do my robes look halfway decent?”

“Yeah, they’re fine. How does my hair look? I can never get it to lay down right.”

Remus gave him a pitying look. He’d seen that before. Usually from his mother.

James was still feebly trying to smooth it out when McGonagall returned. “All right, students, inside now. The ceremony is about to begin.”

Filing into line behind Remus, James anxiously moved forward, into the Great Hall. It was more than he’d expected. Much more. The majesty of it brushed a smile across his face, growing wider as he examined each of the gilded curlicues and sculptures upon the wall. Ahead were four long tables that stretched from one end of the hall to the other, packed with hundreds of students. A shorter table at the head, with a group of adults who must have been the professors, had an open seat just to the left of center…McGonagall’s, perhaps.

All this was lit by an innumerable array of candles hovering over the room, suspended by magic. As James gaped at them, he saw a set of candles floating above one table change color from white to blue, the flame turning an unnatural silver. For the students already seated, this was a new and delightful development, especially once the others began to shift too, turning red, yellow, and green. James was already looking past the candles, into the depths of an endless ceiling of stars, with the almost-full moon obscured by clouds.

James looked ahead at Remus, who was looking up at the magical sky-roof too. His face seemed pale in the shifting light, and he muttered something James couldn’t hear as he looked away hastily.

“What’s wrong?” he asked, nudging Remus slightly with his knuckles.

“Nothing,” Remus replied, only shifting his gaze slightly from the floor. “I hope you’re in the same house as me,” he said suddenly, as if it had just popped into his head.

So that was what he was upset about. “Don’t worry about it. You seem cool. Of course you’ll end up in Gryffindor with me.”

That got Remus to turn almost all the way around, though he stumbled a bit in the process. “What do you mean? How do you know what house you’re going to be in?”

“I mean, I don’t _technically,_ ” James said smoothly. “But it feels obvious. My family has been in Gryffindor for generations. My father thinks our family line might even go back to Godric Gryffindor himself.”

That didn’t seem to comfort Remus as much as James had thought it would… but they didn’t have much time left to reflect on it. They had reached the end of the hall, and McGonagall had begun directing them to spread out in front of the teacher’s table, turning to face the four houses. Once they were all settled, she stepped in front of them, holding a four-legged stool, and placed it squarely in front of the first-years.

“What do we do now?” Remus asked, voice wavery.

“I don’t know,” James admitted. “My parents wouldn’t tell me anything about the Sorting. Thought it would ‘ruin the surprise.’”

McGonagall withdrew her wand from within her plaid robes with a flourish, pointing it toward a cupboard across the hall. It opened with a bang, revealing a lumpy, heavily-patched hat, which floated toward the group. James expected it to land on her head, but instead she steered it right to the top of the stool.

Silence fell in the room, sustained by the anticipation of the older students and the anxiety of James and his companions. Then, a stitch on the hat split open. In an instant, James saw the contours of a face form within the folds and tears of the hat. And then it took a deep breath and began to sing.

_“When I was younger,_

_So much younger than today,_

_I donned the head of Gryffindor_

_From dawn to dusk each day._

_And so it was I witnessed_

_A joining oh so rare_

_Of wizards strong and cunning_

_And witches good and fair._

_‘Twas four of them who gathered_

_To formally agree_

_To make a school for children_

_Of a magic pedigree_

_Ravenclaw was first to speak_

_As first was her idea,_

_‘We need a place for knowledge,_

_Where learning can be free.’_

_‘It cannot hold just knowledge,’_

_Said cheery Hufflepuff_

_‘For without moral guidance_

_Pure learning’s not enough.’_

_‘But who are we to say_

_What is just and what is vile?’_

_Asked Slytherin the crafty_

_With a hidden ounce of guile._

_Their plans seem doomed to failure_

_‘Til Gryffindor suggested,_

_‘Why not divide our school in fourths_

_And each apply our method?_

_Fair Ravenclaw shall govern those_

_Who bring a gifted mind_

_Good Hufflepuff shall mother all_

_Those children just and kind_

_Sly Slytherin should take on those_

_Who share his crafty tongue_

_And I shall take the valiant on,_

_The bravest of the young.’_

_And so their pact was made at last,_

_Each getting what they’d wished,_

_And Hogwarts soon did come to be_

_And since then has flourished._

_The founders now have long been dead,_

_But magic still lives on,_

_So set me down upon your head;_

_I’ll say where you belong.”_

James was so stunned he could only blink, but the Great Hall erupted into applause around him, with many first-years reflexively joining in. In front of them, the Sorting Hat was bowing, soaking in the adulation.

“So we just put the hat on?” Remus asked.

“I guess so,” James whispered back. A line from the song came back to him again, suddenly. “Did you hear that, about Gryffindor? The valiant!”

“Yeah, sounds great, James.” Remus was staring at the hat blankly now. “But what if you’re not in Gryffindor?”

James opened his mouth in confusion, ready to defend his very honor at the suggestion, but McGonagall beat him to it. “When I call your name,” she said, unrolling a long sheet of parchment, “please step forward and take a seat on the stool, placing the Sorting Hat on your head as you do.”

There was no time left for uncertainty, James thought. Only the moments before Gryffindor. “Here we go,” he said, toes tapping eagerly inside his boots.

McGonagall scanned the list a moment, then looked up and shouted the first name: “Avery, Ignatius!”

Avery stepped forward hesitantly. It took effort for James not to scoff aloud at the moron’s poor luck. Even if he hadn’t been first to go, Avery was so thick he probably still wouldn’t have known what to do. Slowly, he walked up to the stool and picked up the hat, sitting down and looking at it for a moment. James saw a flash of irritation on McGonagall’s face, but before she could tell him, Avery put the pieces together and set it atop his head.

“SLYTHERIN!”

The shout from the hat was so quick, Avery nearly fell off his seat. The Slytherin table erupted into cheers as McGonagall took the hat from him — Avery seemed too befuddled to do it himself — and nudged him in the direction of the Slytherin table, farthest on the left.

As the clapping died down, she read another name: “Bagman, Otto!”

The boy, a pudgy youth with messy brown hair, took his seat in turn. “RAVENCLAW!” The table beside the Slytherins began to cheer now, welcoming Otto with handshakes and smiles.

“Barker, Basil!”

“RAVENCLAW!” The silver-and-blue table cheered again, beckoning Basil to join them.

“Bellicose, Beatrix!”

“GRYFFINDOR!” This was the far right table now, bursting into the loudest cheers yet.

“That’s where we’re going,” James whispered. “The loud and the proud.”

“Hopefully.” James could see Remus shifting with every word the two of them exchanged. There were other students whispering too, though, so James pressed on.

“Come on, Remus,” he said. “There aren’t surprises here. You’re a good guy; not bookish, not boring. Where else would you be but Gryffindor?”

“Black, Sirius!”

“Watch,” James said, nodding at Sirius as he sat on the stool. “His whole family’s been in Slytherin. Pureblood too. Going back generations.”

“My dad has a saying about stuff like that.” The Sorting Hat was slow on this one for some reason, so Remus had to whisper even softer as the hall waited for its obvious verdict. “‘The only thing I know will happen is the thing I’m not expecting.’”

James pursed his lips at that. Not a particularly wizardly sentiment. He looked back at Sirius, who looked incredibly uncomfortable under that hat. “What’s taking so long?” he said, almost forgetting to be quiet. “Is Black so Slytherin he broke the hat? You’d think that this would be an easy—”

“GRYFFINDOR!”

Applause came again from the Gryffindor table, but only from about a third of the students there. The rest, like James, were picking up their jaws. The awkward silence lasted only a moment — then their cheers were even louder than before. A pair of tall, red-haired boys even went so far as to stand up and clap, although their gesture seemed aimed more at the murderously silent Slytherin table than anything. James couldn’t see a single one of them moving.

“Told you so,” Remus said, somehow looking more and less worried all at once.

“Broadmour, Maggie” was already putting the Sorting Hat on her head, but James had lost all focus. He turned to look at Remus, trusting in the cheers of excited Hufflepuffs to drown out his voice. “Just because some random pureblood bucks the trend doesn’t mean I’m going to.”

“No, but—”

McGonagall’s head shifted toward them just slightly. “Burbage. Charity.”

The boys were quiet through her sorting into Ravenclaw, and the successive trip of “Campbell, Rory” into Hufflepuff. Then Remus bucked up the courage to whisper the rest of his sentence as the hat dawdled over “Catchlove, Greta,” a short girl with blonde hair whose feet swung anxiously as she waited. “I’m just saying, it can’t just be family that determines where you end up here. Otherwise, you and your friend Sirius would already be sitting on opposite sides of this hall, and it’d only be me and the other poor kids standing at the front of the class.”

“HUFFLEPUFF!”

James pointedly looked away from Remus, hands moving automatically to clap quietly. He kept going a beat longer than everyone else, catching himself just in time to more effectively feign interest in “Chang, Mei.”

But his mind was far from Hogwarts. He wasn’t some pureblood radical, like Mulciber and his kind. His parents hadn’t raised him to believe he was better than others, just for having a name you could find in history books. But the Potter name was important. It was important to them, and it was important to him, and one of the important things _about_ being a Potter is that you were a Gryffindor. A Potter who wasn’t in Gryffindor… What if he was the first person in generations to screw this up?

Suddenly, James realized the girl on the stool in front of him was the one from the train. Bloody hell, he had missed her name!

“Remus,” he said quickly, “what was her name?”

“Didn’t catch it. Why?”

“GRYFFINDOR!”

James didn’t reply as the cheers welled up, drowning out anything he might have said. The girl whipped the Sorting Hat off her head with a grin and hurried down to the Gryffindor table — though James caught her looking back with a glimmer of sadness. He watched as she approached Sirius, then seemed to change her mind and sit between a pair of older girls.

Whoever she was, she was in Gryffindor now. All that was left was to wait, and hope, and pray.

Antsy, he waited through the next dozen or so students. There were no more Gryffindors for a long while, the F’s, G’s, J’s and K’s of Hogwarts divided evenly among the other three houses. James recognized only a few. The Greengrasses had been among the first investors in Sleekeazy’s, and James remembered “Greengrass, Emory,” a Slytherin, as a sulky, ill-tempered boy who had broken his mother’s china cabinet in a fit of wizardly temper as a child. And “Gudgeon, Davy,” sent to Hufflepuff, was a distant cousin from Scotland he’d visited on vacation three years ago, who’d shockingly managed to lose what looked like two stone since then.

“Lewis, Jack” finally broke the streak, going to Gryffindor, and then…

“Lupin, Remus!”

“Good luck,” James whispered quickly to his new friend.

But Remus just smiled back. “With what?” Somehow more confident than James now, he strode forward, swept the hat off the stool and then, in one fluid motion, both sat down and set the hat on his head.

“GRYFFINDOR!”

The hat’s reaction wasn’t quite instantaneous — but certainly fast enough to take James by surprise. For all Remus’s worrying, James had expected his sorting to be a long one. But there he was, waving at James and practically running down the hall to the Gryffindor table. He seamlessly blended into the ongoing celebration over Jack Lewis, and sat down next to him and across from Sirius. To James’s surprise, he reached across the table right away, shaking the pureblood’s hand with vigor.

Now there was nothing left but to wait for his turn. “MacDonald, Mary” joined Remus at the Gryffindor table immediately. The boy next to him, “Mirza, Nabin,” would go to Gryffindor as well, and “Mulciber, Seth,” was the fastest Slytherin called yet. He stalked over to the far left table, glaring at Sirius with disgust before sitting beside a visibly pleased Avery. His poor minion appeared to have developed separation anxiety over the course of the evening.

“Peasegood, Arnold” was where the worrying really started. As the hat pondered Arnold’s placement — “HUFFLEPUFF!” — James realized that he didn’t really know anyone else in the group. At least not anyone else whose name might be before his. So he flinched at “Pepper, Octavius.” Twitched through all five and a half minutes of “Pettigrew, Peter.” Full-on heart attack for “Ponter, Roddy.”

“Potter, James!”

Finally. Conscious of every eye on him, he walked slowly over to the stool, gingerly took up the hat as he sat down, and placed it on his head.

And waited.

“This is all very interesting,”

The voice seemed to come from inside his head. With a shiver, James realized it was the Sorting Hat itself, talking to him. Or thinking at him?

“Both, sort of.” The Hat was _reading his thoughts_. “You’re remarkably stunned by this for someone from such a strong pureblood line. But I do remember both your parents having a mischievous bent so I suspect that explains it.”

James was too stunned to even think up a retort, and the Hat thought-talked on unheedingly. “You’ve got a great deal of ambition, that stands out right away. And you’re loyal to those you care for…to a fault, I would say. And you’re smart — not just book smart, but _real_ smart. The kind of brains that a Ravenclaw would be proud to have. You’d fit well there, or in Hufflepuff, or in Slytherin…”

But what about Gryffindor?

“Yes, what about Gryffindor?” the Hat replied immediately. “Of course you’d fit there. You’ve been practically bred to be there. But it’s not the only path for you, despite what you’re thinking. The Hogwarts houses aren’t really that different. At least they’re not supposed to be. What you do once you’re in a house is much more important than which one we choose for you to join.”

“Choose?” James muttered under his breath. The choice is mine?

“Of course. Everyone in this room chose their house, in one way or another. Most people don’t realize it. But I think you need to know — so you make the right choice.

“You’re the rarest of the students I sort, James. Most 11-year-olds, they’re between two houses. Maybe three. But despite what you think about yourself, you’d thrive anywhere. For you, it’s about what you’re willing to give up.

“Go to Slytherin, and that ambition will flourish. You’ll be one of the greatest wizards of your age — but never trusted and rarely loved. Ravenclaw, and your intelligence will be cultivated strategically, making you wise but unworldly. In Hufflepuff, you’ll get all the friends and love you crave, but you’ll always wonder whether another house might have been better for you.”

“What about Gryffindor?”

“There you get the best of everything,” responded the Hat. “And the worst as well. Because all of your strengths will flourish — your ambitions, your loyalty, and your mind. But it won’t be easy. It’s hard to be ambitious and stay loyal to your friends. And it’s hard to apply the skills you’ll perfect in school when you’ll also know the way the world really works.

“But you’re brave enough to do it, even when it hurts. Are you willing to do that, James Potter?”

James hesitated. He had the sense that the Hat somehow knew more than it was telling, that it could see something James couldn’t. But its choice was no choice at all, in truth.

“I see,” said the Hat, with a strange tone in its voice. If he had to guess, he would have thought it was sorry for him, somehow. “As you wish. Best of luck in…”

“GRYFFINDOR!”

The applause cascaded over James as he took the hat off, and he instinctively looked over at his new house. Remus was standing, hands cupped around his mouth. Near him were the other first-years, all of them cheering, from Sirius, the presumed-Slytherin, to the mousy boy who’d gone into Gryffindor right before him, to the girl from the train, who he could somehow hear cheering above all the others.

He took the hat off, setting it on the stool without a second glance, and hurried down to join his new friends for the first time.

* * *

With all the excitement of the feast, and the speeches, and the food (the roast beef alone!), James didn’t get a chance to talk to that girl again until the end of the night. When he sat at the table next to Remus, she had been surrounded by the five other female first-years already named, and since James had turned out to be the last boy called for the house, their numbers only grew as the night went on. So he’d spent the time getting to know the rest of the guys. Sirius and Peter were quiet — a little stunned perhaps — but Jack and Nabin were chatty enough to make up for it, both Londoners dazzled by the mystique of the castle.

After the feast, one of the prefects, Frank Longbottom, had led them up a series of staircases, dizzyingly high. He’d introduced them to a painting called the Fat Lady and told them the first password of the year (“Acromantula”) before letting them into the common room, a cozy, warm space draped in red and orange patterns.

James and the other first-year boys had already been beaten to the good, fireside couches by some sixth- and seventh-years, so he and Remus had gathered some cushions from across the room and started a game of exploding snap with an old deck Remus pulled out of his back pocket. Peter and Nabin flanked them on either side, both jumping and devolving into giggles every time a card sparked in the face of one or the other.

“If you think exploding snap is great,” James was saying, “you’re going to get blown away by wizard’s chess.”

“Ooh, that sounds wicked,” Nabin said. “What’s the twist? Dragons instead of bishops? Can the queen kill people without moving?”

“It’s not that different, I hear,” James said. “Pieces are the same but—”

Remus tapped the last matching pair as James spoke, and his words were cut off by the biggest flashbang yet. James coughed the soot out of his lungs, blinking furiously, until he heard that sharp laugh again. He turned to see the girl shaking her head, walking with some of her new friends toward the girls’ dormitory stairs.

“Gotta pay attention,” Remus said. It took James a minute to realize he was talking about the cards, not her. “Something tells me you’re a bit too distractible to win a game like this.”

“Totally,” James said, scrabbling to his feet. “Why don’t you try a game with Peter or something? I’m gonna take a walk.”

He didn’t wait to hear Remus’s response. He only hurried across the common room, catching up with the girls just before they finished rounding the bend of the stairs.

“Excuse me!” There were four girls on the stairs total, and each seemed to swivel to glare at him in unison. So much for a sympathetic audience.

“Um, you!” He pointed at the redhead, only dimly aware of how rude he was being but pushing ahead anyway. “Can I talk t’ you for a second?”

She turned, muttering something to the other girls, who looked back at him even frostier than before. The other three did turn away, though, heading up to the dorm all a-chatter. She came down slowly, stopping on the last step and crossing her arms over her stomach. “Come to apologize, did you?”

That stopped him cold. “Apologize? For what?”

“For being so mean to poor Severus on the train. He didn’t do anything to you, or that other boy.”

Three or four retorts popped into James’ head immediately, but he bit them back.

“Err, yeah… Sorry about that,” he said, unconvincingly. “I just came by to introduce myself, formally. I’m James. James Potter.” He extended his hand confidently, hoping she bought his little white lie.

She stared at him again a few moments longer, and then slowly took his hand. “Nice to meet you, I guess. I’m Lily Evans.”

“Lily,” he said, trying the name out. “Nice to meet you. For real, this time. Glad you’re in Gryffindor.”

“Um…yeah, glad you’re here too, I guess. I’m gonna go to bed now — but I’ll see you in classes tomorrow.”

“Of course,” he replied, with a smile. She gave him another odd look, then turned and hurried up the steps, leaving him looking after her.

“Glad you chose to be here,” James said, correcting himself under his breath. “Glad it’s what we _both_ chose.”

Unbidden, a thought floated through his head — old man Ollivander, reminding him a few months prior that wands choose their wizards. Something about Lily Evans made him feel chosen in the very same way.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Extra-attentive readers will probably have noticed my tiny little canon-divergent tweak to JKR's original Hogwarts Express scene... Expect a little less Snape/James animosity (for now)... and potentially bigger butterfly effects down the line.
> 
> Ideally, new chapters should be coming out every week or so. 
> 
> I'm a complete outsider artist when it comes to Marauders fic, so if you want to tell me what I'm doing wrong (or right?!) [.brand-new Tumblr is here.](https://qrimsonfic.tumblr.com/)


	2. Misery

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sirius Black never expected to be in Gryffindor. But he especially never expected everyone to hate him after he was there.

Sirius Black knew his mother already knew everything. At the start-of-term feast, he’d seen his cousin Narcissa slink out before dessert, glaring daggers at him. By the next morning at breakfast, she wasn’t speaking to him — not unusual for the 16-year-old, per se, but not ideal either.

Back at the Gryffindor table, unhappily digging into his breakfast, he watched the Slytherin table silently. All morning, owls came, and went, dropping off messages of congratulations, treats, I-love-yous. And most of them came with something else, a look up, aimed straight at Sirius, full of pity and contempt.

Pushing his eggs around his plate, Sirius feebly wished that one of the family owls would swoop in for him. Even a Howler would be better than silence.

But nothing came, and in a few moments Nabin nudged him. “Come on, Sirius. We’ve got to get to Charms. Don’t want to be late for our first class!”

The Muggleborn boy was positively glowing with excitement, so Sirius let him have his moment without saying anything. Following him out of the Great Hall, Sirius couldn’t help but hear the whispers of every Gryffindor he walked by.

It was going to be a long year.

* * *

Friday morning came and went the same as Thursday. More letters, none for him. More looks. More whispers.

Nabin was the only one even sort-of speaking to him, and Sirius couldn’t risk any more damage to his reputation by making a habit of it. They sat together in Charms again, but as they walked through the halls on the way to Defense Against the Dark Arts, Sirius was looking for an excuse to break away, get some distance.

Suddenly he found it, rounding a corner on the third floor. Seth, Ignatius and Evan, thick as thieves, were cutting in front of them with some other Slytherins, heading down one of the moving staircases.

“Nabin,” he said, grabbing the other boy’s arm. I’ve got to do something quick. I’ll meet you in class.”

“Oh…okay.” Nabin looked confused. “Want me to save you a seat?”

“No,” Sirius said, feeling a little guilty. “Don’t worry about it. I’ll talk to you later.”

Sirius didn’t wait for a response but barreled down the steps. He caught the second-floor landing just in time, right foot almost-but-not-quite missing the last step. The Slytherin boys were still there, walking down the corridor in a pack.

“Seth!”

The boys all stopped and turned, Seth’s face twisting as he saw Sirius. “Oh. Black.”

“Seth, can we talk?” Sirius could tell he was overstepping, that the social code here was just to slink away and curl up in a corner of the North Tower for the next seven years. But he couldn’t do that quite yet.

Seth just sighed. “Boys, give me a minute with the Gryffindor.”

“You’ll be late for Herbology,” Evan hissed, without taking his eyes off Sirius.

“Who cares?” Seth replied. “Just move our stuff in back. I’d rather sit there anyway now that I know Sprout is just gonna be a bore.”

Evan took that as dismissal, and he, Ignatius and the others moved along, heading toward an exit further down the corridor.

As Seth approached, Sirius started talking right away. “Look, Seth, what is going on back with our families? I haven’t heard anything from mine since the Sorting and I know something’s up, I _know_ it. Everyone over by you is looking at me with bloody miserable expressions and I know—”

“Of course we are.” Seth was right in front of him now. For the first time, Sirius noted that Seth had grown since the beginning of the summer, an inch or two taller than he. “You’re the first Black in decades not to go into Slytherin. The first Black in recorded _history_ to go into Gryffindor. Of course everyone is talking.”

“But not to me,” Sirius said. He hated the way he sounded: needy, pleading, weak. “I’ve been frozen out.”

“Well, then I guess you should have thought of that possibility when the Sorting Hat was on your head.” Seth stepped back, surveying him. “I don’t know what was in your mind that put you in Gryffindor, but I know that you’re a Slytherin at the core. Or at least I thought I did.”

“Seth, I…” Sirius trailed off. If he told Seth what the Sorting Hat had actually said, that would be worse, right?

“I’ve got to go,” Seth said. “My house has Herbology this period. I have no idea where you’re supposed to be.”

Seth took off without a second glance, briskly heading after Evan and the others. Sirius thought about calling something out, a last word — but he had nothing to say.

He made it back upstairs to Classroom 2K just in time. Their professor wasn’t there yet, and most of his…fellow Gryffindors…were already seated. Nabin was at the front of the classroom, with Peter Pettigrew already on one side and Imogen Roberts on the other. So that wasn’t going to be a problem.

Instead, Sirius hurried back to the third and final row, sitting in the last seat on the end next to two Gryffindor girls who had their heads in some magazine. One was Helena Quickley, and the other…Maxine? Myra?

Breaking his reverie, an older woman strode in without warning, cutting a striking silhouette. She reminded Sirius of a mountain resort he’d visited with his parents. One moment, sloping curves, as in her hourglass figure or the roundness of her face. But then! — a craggy nose, sharp cheekbones, her one visible, sharply angular ear, with a set of 7 gold rings interlocked at the peak. It was her right ear; the left was completely covered by a complex, clearly magical knot of brown hair on the side of her head, tangled, woven and braided together with a thick crimson thread gnarling its way through the mess.

In the halls, Sirius had seen her walking about in the same robes as other Hogwarts professors wore, but she whipped it off coming into class, exposing flared black trousers, studded black boots that made him envious at the sight of them, and a billowy white dress shirt with a deep blue ribbon tied around her neck. “Robes off!” she barked, tossing her own over the podium at the front of the classroom and pushing it out of the way.

A mutter went through the class. Not a single one of them obeyed her order.

The professor finished moving the podium and turned around, seeming unsurprised. “Yes, the other first-years did the same thing yesterday and then I yelled a bit more and they did what I asked but I _really_ hoped we could skip this part.”

She put her hands on her hips, looking out over the room. Then she gave a deep sigh, shaking her head. “All right. Here we go. My name is Professor Brocken. I’ll be teaching Defense Against the Dark Arts this year.

“Answers for the wizardborns: Yes, I have heard the rumors about this position being jinxed. Yes, Headmaster Dumbledore assured me that they are false. No, I do not believe him. No, I do not know why someone would expend a great deal of effort and magical energies toying with this institution’s hiring practices. No, I am not interested in your theories. Yes, you do have to write essays for this class, and I am offended by the question.

“Answers for the Muggleborns: Yes, I made my hair look this fantastic with magic. No, you may not call this class ‘dada.’ No, I am not going to put a hex on you. No, you will not learn how to put a hex on your least favorite sibling this year. No, I will not make an exception, not even for cousin Mildred. Yes, you do have to write essays for this class, and I am offended by the question.

“You are removing your robes because when you are out in the world, you will not always be enveloped in the safety and comfort of cozy black robes and a classroom setting. That is both a metaphor and a fact. When I graduated from Hogwarts 15 years ago, I immediately entered the Auror training program. In that first year of training, I remember only one time I felt like nothing bad could happen to me. A second later, my instructor hit me from behind with a spell that would have peeled the skin off my back layer by layer, if we weren’t using training wands.

“Out in the real world, if you are truly defending yourself against the Dark Arts, punches will not be pulled. If you are not prepared, you will die. Or worse. So we take our robes off in this class, whether we’re practicing practical magic or not, as a reminder of that. Any questions?”

A row ahead of Sirius, Jack Lewis raised his hand, ears bright red.

“Yes. Mr…”

“Lewis, Professor.” Jack’s voice was wavery, and Sirius was starting to suspect something hilarious, if his years of attending one pureblood function after another were any use.

“What is it, Lewis?”

“Um…well…what if we aren’t wearing the…best clothes under our robes, Professor?”

The girls next to Sirius started giggling, and the rest of the class started to catch on. Professor Brocken leveled a devastating glare at Jack. “Lewis, you have two choices. Would you like to spend this class in your pants and slippers, or would you like to be my first detention of the year?”

“Detention,” he said quickly, causing the immediate wave of laughter to grow even louder.

Professor Brocken shook her head back and forth. “Foolish, boy. You know nothing about me or what I can do to you. Always choose dishonor over the danger of the unknown. Ten points from Gryffindor. Be here tomorrow morning at 6. And get out of my classroom.”

The laughter stopped, and Jack went as pale as he’d been red. Scurrying up his books, he shuffled out of the room, leaving an ominous hole in the row he’d left.

Brocken looked back at the remaining 13 students. “Anyone else leave their trousers in Gryffindor Tower?”

Sirius quickly began slipping off the buttons of his robe, only a few moments ahead of his classmates. Thank Merlin he wasn’t as uptight as most of his family, who’d have been in a similar situation to poor Jack.

He’d dressed this morning in much the same sort of thing as he’d been expected to wear around Grimmauld Place most of the time — a formerly opulent and ruffled white silk shirt that he’d sliced most of the excess off of with a sloppy Severing Charm. His parents had been furious after he’d done it for the first time, when he was 8 — arguably more for the cheek of it than that he’d practically ruined the shirt. He’d gotten better at it with each shirt they bought him, and by the time they’d given up he had a wardrobe that was…well, the right word was “rock ’n’ roll,” but he very well couldn’t drop a Muggle-ism like that in front of his family.

A cursory glance around the room told him that Jack wasn’t alone in his concerns — further up, he could see Peter quivering in a light white shirt and what appeared to be Muggle boxer shorts, and two of the girls were in shifts, including the one on the other side of Helena. Mona?

He did note that the most comfortable students seemed to be the Muggleborns. Lily, the girl he’d briefly encountered on the train to Hogwarts, was in the second row wearing a simple grey sweater and plaid skirt, while one of the girls sitting next to her, Mary MacDonald, was wearing slacks and a jumper. And Nabin was wearing a simple white shirt with short sleeves and a strange small collar — and something else over it. Two thin and shiny black strips of fabric that went over his shoulders…attached to his trousers?

He tried to lean forward in his seat to get a better look at whatever the stripey things were, but Brocken started speaking again. “Excellent. In the future, please plan on dressing…accordingly for class. While there will be many days when we stick to the text, there shall be others in which we move about the room doing spellwork, and I have no plans to tell you which are which. It’s a courtesy your adversaries will not show you either.”

“Excuse me, Professor?” The girl on the other side of Lily raised her hand suddenly.

“Yes, Miss…”

“Bellicose. Beatrix Bellicose. Professor…not all of us are going to be Aurors, you know? I mean, it’s important to _learn_ this stuff, but this is supposed to be just in case, right? We’re not going to have ‘adversaries’ when we graduate.”

Brocken nodded sharply, putting her arms behind her back. “You raise an argument, Beatrix, that has been used by opponents of this class for generations. After all, there is nothing you are going to learn this year that could not be covered by my fellow professors. We will learn several jinxes, which are merely defensive charms. We will learn about various malicious magical creatures, which could be added into the History of Magic or Care for Magical Creatures curricula. And you are correct in suggesting that it is not _likely_ that any of you will have an enemy interested in your eradication in the years after you leave this institution.

“But on the off chance you do…would you prefer to be able to put up a fight, or die?”

For the second time that morning, the class was stunned into silence. Brocken’s eyes scanned the room, examining the students’ responses. “Your first assignment,” she finally barked, “is to write an essay defining a purely evil act one might commit without even realizing it. Make it as long or as short as you believe you need. But make it convincing. I won’t have any patience for something facetious, or crude, or deliberately shocking. I have better things to do with my time.”

In the front row, Remus put up his hand, but Brocken made a cutting gesture with her own. “No questions. Bring it back on Tuesday. We’ll discuss it then. Open your books to page 147. The introductory chapter on Dark creatures native to the British Isles. I think, given some of your outfits, today should be a text day.”

“What a relief,” the girl two seats away from Sirius whispered to her friend. “I’ve got to tell you, if I knew all the professors here were going to be so…irreverent…I might have given in and let Mummy send me to Beauxbatons. All my cousins are there — I’m the first Pommegel in decades to skip out, and it was a big scandal.”

“I thought your last name was Dawlish?” Helena asked.

“Mina!”

The girls both turned to look at Sirius. He realized too late he’d spoken aloud. “Um… sorry…” he whispered. “I’d just, er, forgotten your name.”

Both Helena and Mina rolled their eyes and turned back to each other. “Typical,” Mina muttered. “Filthy Blacks don’t give a damn about any purebloods but themselves.”

Helena wasn’t as polite. “At least the other ones have the decency to stay in their own house,” she said, not even pretending she wasn’t talking to Sirius. “What are you doing here, anyway? Your parents finally get enough money to bribe the Sorting Hat, buy themselves a double agent?”

A few days ago, Sirius probably would have handled an affront to him or his family by turning one of those Severing Charms he was so good at on the person speaking — at least just to give them a warning scratch or two. But Mina had a point. He didn’t belong here, surrounded by all these Gryffindors, and he was just as unhappy about it as they were — his rage drowned by deeper misery.

So he said nothing. Just bent down, grabbed his copy of _The Dark Forces_ , and pretended like he cared a whit about pixies.

* * *

By Sunday, he finally broke down and went up to the Owlery himself. He remembered his mother getting an owl of congratulations off to Narcissa within the day when she got into Slytherin five years ago. To not hear from her in half a week was a problem.

He was glad he’d remembered to bring a coat. The top of the West Tower was freezing, even in September, winds gusting through the open windows. Two Ravenclaw students were already there when he arrived: an older boy with a prefect’s badge and an embarrassingly thin amount of fair blonde stubble, writing what appeared to be a short essay, and a younger olive-skinned girl with her hair tied back in a ponytail, feeding a small white owl treats.

Diana flew right down to him as he arrived, startling the girl. As well she might. His mother had bought the eagle owl for him after only a cursory observation — she wanted the “firstborn scion of House Black” to have the biggest, most fearsome owl in all of Eeylops.

Pity for her that despite Diana’s dark coloring and impressive wingspan — longer than Sirius was tall — she hadn’t had a vicious bone in her body. The owl had practically snuggled into his armpit the first time he let her out of her cage, to his delight and his mother’s fury.

“Hi there, Di.” His owl perched herself on a window ledge, and he pulled some bits of sausage from breakfast out of his pocket. “Your ‘ears’ are looking lovely today.”

She nipped at his fingers as he brushed her ear tufts lightly, then went for the food, snapping it out of his outstretched hand.

“All right, all right, don’t choke yourself.” He reached into his other pocket for the letter he’d written in his room earlier. “I need you to send this to Mum, okay? It’s important. Don’t come back until she writes you a reply.”

She cackled back at him in reply, nuzzling her face against his left hand.

“Wonderful.” He set the letter in her talons, and she took off with a whoosh, flying up and up within the Owlery until she got to the big windows at the top, sailing south toward London.

“Your owl’s lovely.”

The prefect had finally finished his note and gone, but the girl was still there, looking over curiously at him as she spoke. “I remember my first week here was pretty tough too. My birthday’s in August, so I barely got my brain around Hogwarts before my parents had to pack me up and send me here.”

Sirius just looked at her sadly as he walked back toward the long, winding stairwell. “You don’t know this yet,” he said, “but you don’t want to be nice to me.”

* * *

After surviving almost a full week of silence, it was a true shock to Sirius when Diana practically dropped into his lap at breakfast the next morning, spilling pumpkin juice all over the four sentences he’d written of his terrible essay for Brocken and helping herself to his meal.

“Whoa,” Nabin gasped, sliding away a little. “Your owl is fantastic.”

Sirius grabbed for the letter in Diana’s talons, completely unconcerned with the soggy parchment. The Black family seal was embossed on the back, in dark green ink. He broke the seal with his thumbnail, but then stopped, thinking.

“You gonna open that?” Nabin asked. “Or… at least clean up?”

“Oh.” Sirius stuffed the letter into the pocket of his robes, and scooped what was left of the essay onto his plate. “Sorry about that. I—”

A bell rang, cutting him off. With a coo, Diana took flight again, startling the other Gryffindors around Sirius.

“Great,” Nabin said. “Our first double Potions class with the Slytherins. I heard from one of the prefects that Slughorn spoils them rotten, since he’s head of house. You think that’s true?”

“Guess we’ll have to find out,” he said. “Come on. It’s a long walk to the dungeons.”

The two of them fell into formation with the other first-years, who broke away from the older students to descend down into the depths of Hogwarts. Nabin quickly started chatting with the boys around them, but Sirius couldn’t bring himself to join in. His mind was stuck on the letter in his pocket. It felt like it was burning in there, burning itself right out into the open.

The potions wing was cold and dark, torchlight scarcely alleviating either. When the Gryffindors found their classroom, the Slytherin students were already there, sitting two by two at tall black tables. Sirius followed Nabin to one of the tables automatically, slumping into the chair behind it.

Professor Slughorn was standing next to the front left table, chatting with the Slytherin students there. Sirius thought he recognized the darker-skinned one as Cole Shafiq, the oldest of six or seven pureblood cousins keeping the family going. The boy next to him was a sandy-haired kid he couldn’t place, Irish by the sound of his accent.

“It’s so weird,” the Irish kid was saying. “My whole life, I think I’m just some nobody who’s gonna live an die in Kenmare, and then my ma sets me down the day before my birthday and says we’re all wizards.”

“Very interesting,” said the portly professor, clearly bored. “Cole, you and I should chat more a bit later. I have not had a Shafiq in my classroom in decades, and I am sure there is a great deal to catch up on!”

Cole started to say something, but Slughorn walked away quickly, clapping his hands together as he moved to the front of the room. “All right, all right, settle down everyone. Take your seats and we’ll begin.”

The last of the Gryffindors quieted down, slipping into remaining seats. “Now, don’t get too comfy,” Slughorn said. “We’re about to pick potions partners for the year, and in my experience _everybody_ always wants to switch once I say that.”

Slughorn was right. Just about every kid who had already taken their books out was cramming them back into their bag.

“So, before I give you the whole speech about the marvelous, mystical art of potionmaking, let’s do that, eh? If you’re not sitting next to someone you trust to put the right ingredients in your cauldron all year, get up and find someone you can work with. Slytherins have an odd number, I believe, so let’s keep the group of three in their house. I’ll give you a minute or two to get settled.”

A few tables down, Lily’s hand shot up. “Professor Slughorn? Do we have to be partners with someone in our house?”

The question seemed to shake Slughorn out of his routine, and he gave Lily a strange look. “Unusual question for a Gryffindor. What’s your name, dear?”

“Evans, sir. Lily Evans.”

“Well. I gave up forcing my classes to mingle a decade ago after a talented young lad tricked his partner into taste-testing a Shrinking Solution. But I suppose times could have changed. Open season, everyone! Surprise me like Miss Evans.”

Slughorn clapped his hands, and about half of the room sprang into motion. Lily was the only student who seemed to be taking her own advice, practically dashing across the classroom to slide in next to the greasy Slytherin she’d been fighting with on the train.

Sirius decided to take a gamble and join her, springing out of his chair heedless of Nabin’s protestations. He saw Seth, Ignatius and Evan clustering together, and cut in before they could start pulling the extra chair over. “Hey, guys,” he said. “Let me pair up with one of you.”

Avery just looked blankly at him, as Seth and Evan shared a glance. “Look, Sirius,” Seth started, “there needs to be a group of three. Why don’t you just pair up with—”

“Mate, bugger off.” Evan practically spat the words out, Sirius shrinking away in surprise. “Can’t you bloody get it?”

“…What?” Sirius could hear the room quieting, noticing the spat. He felt his whole body going numb.

Seth nudged Evan slightly. “Seriously, Ev, we talked about this.”

“I don’t care. I’m tired of him just sniffling around us like a little mouse.” Evan stepped away from the others, right up in Sirius’s face. “Why don’t you get back on the other side of the room and sit with some Mudblood, you filthy blood traitor?”

Sirius’s wand was out before he knew it, aimed straight at Evan’s heart. The other boy pushed him back before Sirius could jinx him, though, laying him out on the floor. Sirius scrambled to his feet, instinctively counting the seconds before Evan could pick up his own wand from the table behind him and—

“Boys, boys, boys!”

Slughorn was there between them, an arm outstretched on either side. “Let’s not make me take house points away on the first day, all right? Everybody go back to their own side of the classroom and save the experimenting for in your cauldrons.”

Their professor stepped back, and Sirius reluctantly put away his wand. Evan looked as if he wanted to spit in his face, but took a sidelong look at Slughorn and thought better of it, moving to stand next to Seth and Ignatius.

“That means you too, Miss Evans,” Slughorn said, looking sadly at Lily. “Although don’t think I won’t still be paying attention to your work. Why don’t you and your rowdy little friend pair up for the time being?”

The smile slipped off the greaseball’s face, and Lily patted his shoulder gently before packing up her things again and moving to the last open table on the Gryffindor side. Sirius joined her a moment later, greeted by a fierce scowl that didn’t go away for the entire two hours remaining in the class.

By the time Slughorn was done bragging about his potionmaking prowess and taught them the basics of working their cauldrons, Sirius had started to develop a single feeling again. Anger, crimson and screaming. At Evan, and Seth, and Lily, and Nabin, and Slughorn, and his mother, and himself.

He practically tore the envelope in half ripping it out of his pocket, veering away from the departing, chatty Gryffindors as soon as they climbed out of the dungeon and cutting down a random hallway. He walked until he’d lost track of exactly where he was, and then leaned against the wall and sank down to the floor.

There was no point in waiting any longer. He took the note the rest of the way out of the envelope. His mother’s entire correspondence was written in her slanted handwriting on one side of a card, smaller than his hand.

_Sirius,_

_Don’t be foolish. Of course we received word of your Sorting. Do not mistake silence for ignorance. Or approval._

_We will inform you later this term whether or not you should return home for the holidays._  

Sirius boiled over. He didn’t remember crumpling the letter in his hand, but he was crushing it tighter and tighter now, as sobs wracked his body. Each one made him angrier. Each reminded him that he was too weak. That he was alone.

The shuffling of boots down the hall caught his ears, and he jerked his head up to see a group of teenagers actively ignoring the sound of his crying. As they laughed and joked together, Sirius could see enough bits of house pride on their robes to recognize them as Gryffindors.

“Fellow” Gryffindors.

* * *

“Essays to the front,” Brocken barked. Sirius handed his, a single page, ahead to Nabin. The Muggleborn boy took it without a word. They hadn’t spoken since Potions yesterday.

Sirius couldn’t blame him, he supposed. In less than a week at Hogwarts, he’d managed to earn the hatred of just about every Slytherin and Gryffindor in his year. Nabin had been just about the only hold-out.

“Thank you,” Brocken said, taking the essays out of Remus’s hand. Most were much longer than Sirius’s, curling scrolls that dipped close to touching the floor. Their professor stepped back, closer to the podium. “All right. Let’s see what you all thought.”

She started reading wordlessly, her eyes flickering back and forth across the page. Around Sirius, the first-years began whispering to each other, confused.

“Beatrix Bellicose. Better than expected, given that you introduced the topic so clumsily. But once you have children I think you’ll understand that some harms are necessary to allow, and at the very least, not ‘evil.” You fail.”

The whispers grew silent, and Beatrix gasped aloud. Brocken took her paper and placed it on the podium face-down, then began reading the next one, halfway to the ground. “James Potter. You’ve got an excellent grasp of the potential implications of the butterfly effect. But despite how karmically satisfying it might seem, it is unfair to blame one person for the actions of another five or ten links down a chain of cause and effect. You fail.”

The muttering started again, and James spoke up. “Wait, what? Professor Brocken, you can’t grade our papers in class without reading them.”

“I am reading them, Mr. Potter. Not in full and not in private, but I promised neither. Kiran Qasid. I specifically said nothing facetious. Fail.” She put Kiran’s down, ignoring the girl’s sudden tears, and looked quickly at the next page, the longest scroll of the bunch. “Daisy Mandel. Same problem. Fail.”

The next page was Sirius’s. He could see the tattered edge where he had torn off the pumpkin juice-stained portion. Brocken read more of his than anyone’s yet, while the whole room rippled with anxiety and sniffles.

Finally, she looked up, staring directly at him. “Sirius Black. I must correct you on just one point. ‘Ignoring the pain of another’ is not always something people do without realizing it. It is often something they do purposefully, because they have not yet felt enough pain in their lives to sympathize with another sufferer. But it is no less cruel and evil for that. You pass.”

A feeling curled upward from deep in Sirius’s gut that he hadn’t felt since arriving in Hogwarts. Pride.

“Thank you, Professor,” he heard himself saying. Most of the class was looking at him, surprised. He noticed James in particular had a strange expression on his face.

“Thank _you_ , Mr. Black. I’d suspected none of you would have been able to write something so poignant in your first week.” She looked back at the papers a moment, not moving Sirius’s to the pile on the podium. Then she vanished them with a pop, brushing her hands together in front of her. “Perhaps you’re right, Mr. Potter. I’ll read the rest of these later and return them with notes.

“Until then: Wands out. Let’s take a page out of Mr. Black’s book and learn how to get someone’s attention.”

They spent the rest of the class period learning to shoot sparks out of their wand, red and green. Sirius could only get one of the colors to work.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for the sharp tonal shift -- Sirius will be happy eventually, I promise.
> 
> 100 points to the first person who picks up on the extremely sneaky Muggle origin of his owl's name...His mother would be just furious to know she's not named for the Roman deity.


	3. Anna (Go to Him)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Before Peter Pettigrew got on the Hogwarts Express, his father gave him a strange package, and his mother some strange advice. And now they're not writing him back to congratulate him on getting into Gryffindor. What's he supposed to do now?
> 
> (Other than panic.)

Peter Pettigrew had been waiting for Ringo for three days, and he was starting to worry that something might have eaten him.

Objectively, he knew that owls were predators, not prey, and owls raised by wizards were smarter than the rest of their kin, but he couldn’t make the feeling go away. He’d mailed his letter to his mum the night he arrived at Hogwarts, for god’s sake. He’d felt a little guilty about slipping away to the Owlery while everyone was celebrating… but the prefects weren’t on duty yet and it wasn’t like he really knew anyone here and what was the point of having asked his father for _every_ detail he could think of about Hogwarts if he wasn’t going to use it right away?

_(Okay, he’d gotten lost almost right away and if it wasn’t for the help of the giant groundskeeper who’d taken them over the lake he probably would have starved to death and turned into another Hogwarts ghost but at least Hagrid had promised not to tell anyone he’d snuck out.)_

But _since_ he’d sent the letter during the feast there was no reason it shouldn’t be there by dinner on Saturday. His family lived in London — a day’s flight for the average owl. And Ringo was fast. Even if his father had sent him as late as lunch today, he should have been back by now.

Well, maybe not. But it was certainly nice to think so.

“Stop worrying about your letter.”

Remus Lupin was probably the only friend Peter had at Hogwarts.

 _(Unless all of his dormmates counted as friends, but they definitely didn’t since James had already tried to jinx him for dropping a Gelatinous Shrub on his feet in Herbology and everyone else seemed to pretend like he didn’t exist)_

So it was upsetting that he was getting more and more irritable as each day went on. Peter couldn’t figure out if it was something he was doing, or something Remus was eating — he was only picking at his food, tonight.

“I’m sorry,” Peter replied. “It’s just a letter from my parents. I’d thought I would have gotten it right away.”

“I get it,” Remus said, eyes focused intently on his roast. “But it’s probably just a problem with the owl post or something. It happens all the time.”

“Not really,” James butted in from beside Remus.

Remus fixed him with a sharp glare. “Piss off, James.”

_(Somehow Remus was friends with both Peter and James, and Peter couldn’t figure it out because neither Peter nor James liked each other and you’d think Remus would have to pick sides, but at least it was nice to have Remus keeping James from getting him with something really nasty like a Leg-Locker on the stairs.)_

James wrinkled his nose in disgust. “Did the house-elves burn your dinner? What’s got you in a snit?”

“Nothing,” Remus muttered. “I’ve got…a family thing happening. I might have to leave the castle this weekend.”

“Already?” Peter asked. That was weird. He hadn’t thought students left Hogwarts for anything other than emergencies during the year, especially not in the first week.

“I can’t talk about it,” Remus said quickly. “I think I’m gonna cut out early. Work on some History of Magic homework in case I … I have to go. Want to make sure I get it done by class on Monday.”

“Why don’t you just tear pages out of your book and turn that in?” James said. “Binns hardly notices if any of us are even in class. He’s hardly going to give our assignments a close read.”

But Remus was already swinging his legs over the side of the bench, and then he was gone, leaving James and Peter almost across from each other with Gryffindors chattering all around them.

“Seriously, what’s wrong with him?” James looked like he was pained just talking to Peter.

“I don’t think I know any more than you,” Peter replied slowly. “He spent all day in the library today. This is the first time I’ve seen him since last night.”

“He and I walked down to breakfast together,” James said. “He ate four or five pieces of bacon before I got through one, and then got weird when I congratulated him about it.”

_(Wait are we friends even when Remus is gone now?)_

“I’m sorry about Herbology, by the way,” Peter blurted out. “I didn’t mean to knock the Shrub off the table.”

It was the wrong thing to say. “Thanks for the reminder, Pete.” James’ tone was ice. “Maybe I should follow Remus’s lead and catch up on some work.”

“Geez, James, I just—”

“Forget it, mate,” James said, gathering up his stuff. “I’ll catch you later.”

That just left Peter, alone, waiting for his mysteriously missing owl.

* * *

There were still a few hours before curfew, so Peter found himself wandering the halls, looking for a sufficiently distant and abandoned room. Under his arm, he carried a heavy rectangular parcel, unopened.

His father had given it to him before he got on the Hogwarts Express, admonishing him not to open it in front of his fellow classmates if possible. “It’s not against the rules, per se…” he’d intimated, “but I’m guessing it’ll make you a bit of a target. No one there’s going to have anything quite like it, and I think the Muggleborns especially will be jealous.”

That was just like his dad. He was good at knowing which rules were bendable. He’d gotten the family tickets to every Quidditch World Cup as far back as Peter could remember, thanks to some creative asking of favors, and he was always making side deals with the wizards he worked with in the Department of International Magical Cooperation to get the best imports whenever they left town.

That was how he’d ended up with the best record collection out of any of his friends back home, Muggle or fellow wizard. His parents were big believers in blending in with your environment, so even though Peter’d gotten the traditional wizard home-schooling—

 _(The strange odor of Mrs. Blaeksprut’s lunchtime hunter’s pot would never leave his memories, most like.)_

—he’d also been instructed to keep pace with the latest Muggle trends, at least until he got to Hogwarts.

So every month or so his father would come back with a new Muggle record. Something good too — the Muggles on his block always seemed to complain that their parents were hopelessly out of touch, and his father did a good impression of that for the neighborhood. But then Peter would come downstairs and his father would have the new Stones album, or the Who, or Hendrix, or the Kinks. For special occasions, like his birthday or Christmas, it might even be something imported. Last year, his dad had gotten him the new Led Zeppelin album, a full two weeks before it came out in Britain.

He’d left it back at home, along with just about all his records. Magical interference already played hell with the speakers in London; at Hogwarts, his dad said, anything electrical was all but worthless. There hadn’t been much of that when he was in school, right after the war, but he had heard enough stories of Muggleborns in the ‘50s and ‘60s finding out their prized transistor radio was just going to have to go back in the owl post to know better.

Peter hadn’t seen anyone in minutes, not even prefects, so there was probably going to be a good space to open his gift somewhere around here. He shied away from a set of double doors guarded by imposing suits of armor and instead scurried down a narrow side corridor.

There were no doors down the short hall, oddly, and Peter would have turned back right away were it not for the glimmer he saw through the archway up ahead. The points of a large iron gate loomed menacingly over the entrance, but as Peter got closer he could see that they were heavily rusted over — this gate hadn’t been closed in years, if not decades.

He stepped across the threshold into a room full of trophies and plaques, crammed into cabinets and cases with little concern for decorum. In the moonlight, he could see a thick layer of dust across most of the crystal cabinets, untouched.

This was the place, he thought. No one had come this way in ages, no one was going to come by tonight, and—

One of the cabinets tipped over with an almighty crash that only almost drowned out Peter’s screech of terror. He nearly dropped his present on the ground as he backed into another trophy case, eyes darting about the room to see what had caused it.

“Oooh, little firstie’s a screamer.” A impish figure with shining white skin materialized in front of Peter, hovering about five feet up with its legs crossed. “I’ll have to keep an eye out for you.”

“I’m not a screamer,” Peter stammered. “I just screamed.”

“Well, they say actions speak louder than words. But that was a pretty loud scream so I guess it goes screams then actions then words.” The creature slid over to a small table, not moving its body in the slightest, and pushed a large bronze cup onto the floor with a clatter.

“Y-you must be Peeves. The poltergeist.” He was too solid (and rude!) to be any of the other Hogwarts ghosts, most of which had been at the feast anyway. Peter had heard Beatrix Bellicose saying that she’d heard Peeves had been absent because he was mucking up the plumbing in the Hufflepuff bathrooms. But it didn’t feel like a good idea to ask him that.

“The one and only.” Peeves untucked his legs, doing a little bow. He looked about the room in mock surprise. “My, you’ve made quite the mess in here.”

“That was you!” Peter was not proud of the way his voice squeaked.

“That’s not what the prefects I hear running are going to think.” Peeves grabbed another cabinet by its top edge, and pointed his finger accusingly at Peter. “ _A thousand points from Gryffindor!_ ”

He vanished in an instant, and then the other cabinet came down too, glass shattering in every direction. Peter flinched back, and then realized he actually could hear footsteps and shouting coming from the other entrance to the room.

All thoughts of opening his present abandoned, he ran back out the archway. If he could get down the hall before the prefects made it through the room and saw him, maybe he could hide in the room with the suits of armor (even though it was scary) and wait until —

He nearly ran into a portrait of Headmaster Basil Fronsac, who was sternly leaning forward in his chair to glare at him. “Boy,” the portrait shouted, “you’d better have a good explanation for all that noise. I was _just_ planning to catch up on some reading.”

Pete nearly collapsed from fright. He was in a totally different hallway, extending to the left and right away from the Trophy Room. He turned back around to see the same archway and rusted gate, but now at the end of a very short hallway, with tall windows exposed to the moonlight.

“It moved,” he gasped. “The room moved.”

“Well of course,” Fronsac said. “The Trophy Room usually likes a couple hours on the sixth floor every few days. Too bad you’re missing it, actually, there’s a rather nice fresco of the founders of Hogwarts when it’s away.”

Peter would deal with processing all of that later.

_(although the fresco did sound nice)_

For now, he, Basil Fronsac, the Trophy Room and at least two outraged prefects were all in the same place, and he needed to change that. He picked the left hall at random and set off running, his feet slamming against the stones much more loudly than he wished they would. At the first fork, he hung a right, then a left. But he could still hear feet behind him.

Peter took a corner and realized he was stuck. He hadn’t realized he was running down the Charms corridor, but that was where he found himself, looking at three doors he knew only led to classrooms and a taller one that would open onto the stairs to Professor O’Brien’s private office. And going back wasn’t an option. Those prefects would be here in a moment, and with them…detention, at minimum.

But then—

Something about the wall caught the corner of his eye, and he looked over at it more closely. There was only one classroom on the right side of the corridor, further down. But in between him and that door, there was a patch of wall that was different. He sensed something about it — something he had gotten used to ignoring in a castle full of enchanted objects. Magic.

Without even taking the time to think about it, Peter ran straight into the wall.

* * *

When Peter was 9, his parents had gotten in the habit of inviting over the Muggles next door over on weekends for a drink or two after dinner. It was an alarming break from routine, at first. His father had been known to have drinks with coworkers at the pub, and his mother had always been friendly with the other women on their block, but to invite people into the house was a daring choice. It was one, Peter sensed, that even they didn’t fully understand their reasoning for.

Because before the Davises came over, Peter’s mother would spend the afternoon rushing about the house, tucking away any and all signs of wizardry. Every scrap of paper from the Ministry was sent into his father’s office. Each of Peter’s toys needed to be locked securely in its chest. Every moving photograph over the mantlepiece needed to be frozen in place, like the photos in a Muggle paper.

But when all that was done, it seemed a relief for both his parents to have the grown-up company — especially his mother. Peter had been growing to notice a strange restlessness to her in recent months. More and more often, he’d come home from Mrs. Blaeksprut’s to find his mum still out of the house for the day. She was always apologetic when she returned, apparating back into the flat with a muffled bang. But only to him. A distance seemed to have grown between her and his father, and he’d even heard some of her witch girlfriends mention offhandedly that it seemed as though she wasn’t around much.

Those weekend nights were an exception. When his parents were hosting the Davises, his mother was as vivacious as he could remember her ever being. He usually was up in his room while the neighbors were over. Sam and Libby didn’t have any kids, though they were nice enough to him for grownups, but every once in a while he would stay downstairs with a glass of cream soda to listen in, if his mother said it was okay.

One January night in particular, Peter happened to linger a bit longer, half awake as his parents and the Davises wrapped up a game of whist.

Sam was scoring, jotting figures down on a scrap of paper. “All right, that’s six tricks for me and Libby, seven for you and Anna…looks like you’ve come out on top this week, Arthur!”

“Well, that’s a nice surprise.” Peter’s father didn’t like losing, but he and Peter’s mother were used to it with the Davises. Whist wasn’t truly a wizarding game and they were terribly bad at it. “Congratulations, dear.”

“Yes, and good game to you two as well,” Peter’s mother replied, grinning. Peter was glad to see her so happy, almost glowing as she picked up the cards from the table and shuffled them together.

“Well, Sam, I think we should duck out and let Arthur and Anna enjoy the rest of their evening,” Libby said. “Peter here looks like he’s about to fall asleep at the table.”

Peter defiantly sat as far upright as he could manage. “Nope! I’m fine. You guys can play another game if you want!”

But a yawn betrayed him a moment later, his jaw opening wide against his wishes, setting off giggles for both the Davises and his parents.

“Perhaps a cup of tea first?” Peter’s mother stood up from the table, already moving into the kitchen. “Something to give you fortitude for the walk home.”

“Oh, yes, such a long walk over the hedges,” Sam said, giving Peter’s father a look.

Libby slapped Sam’s hand lightly, sliding over to sit beside him. “Hush, you. Anna, we’d love one. _Just_ one; Sam doesn’t deserve a cup.”

Peter’s mum laughed at that too, an unseen chime from the kitchen around the corner. “Oh, Libby, you’re too hard on him. Once you’ve gotten a bit past two years’ marriage you’ll have a much different sense of when to actually put your husband in the doghouse.”

“Uh oh,” Peter’s father said, nudging him with his elbow. “That doesn’t sound good for me.” He and Sam laughed at that, though Libby gave his father an odd look.

A moment later, the tea kettle gave a familiar whistle, cut off quickly as his mother began to fill the pot. She came around the corner then, with one of the family’s tea sets arranged simply on a tray.

His mother’s collection of teapots and cups was a particular point of pride, cultivated by her mother’s side of the family for generations. All enchanted, of course, and full of wizarding regalia — this one appeared to have the McPhail family crest, commemorating his great-somethingth-grandfather’s appointment as Minister for Magic. Not that the Davises would have known that.

“I think you’ll enjoy this particular tea,” Peter’s mother said, gingerly setting the tray in the middle of the table. “Someone at work recommended it to Arthur. From the East, right dear?”

Peter didn’t hear his father’s response. There was something about the tea set he was noticing for the first time. It was like he could see it — but then there was something else on top of what he was seeing. Something invisible yet tangible. Two things, actually, layered on top of each other. And they felt…wobbly. Like they were fighting each other.

Without thinking about what he was doing, Peter made them stop fighting.

Even after Sam and Libby started screaming, it took him a moment for him to realize what he’d done. The teacups and saucers had floated straight to the four of them, and the teapot was rising to join them, bouncing from one cup to the next as if nothing was happening.

In a panic, Libby swept her teacup to the ground. It bounced with a clang, obstinately refusing to shatter, and flew back into her hand, causing her to scream again and fall out of her chair. Sam got up to help her, but suddenly the sugar bowl was in his face, and he feebly tried to bat it out of the way.

“ _Immobulus!_ ”

Peter hadn’t even seen his father reach under the table for his wand, but he was holding it now, slowly bringing his right arm down to his side. Everything in the room but the Pettigrews had frozen in place.

_(And the eyes of the Davises, rocking back and forth with panic, frantically looking for an escape that wasn’t coming.)_

His mother collapsed in an armchair, nervously laughing and crying at once. It was the only sound in the room.

“Anna. Take Peter upstairs,” his father said finally. “I’ll take care of this.”

With a flick of his father’s wand, the tea set began to reassemble itself into an orderly arrangement on the table. Peter’s mother came around, shaking, and led him up to his room without a word. Peter knew better than to look back. But behind him, he heard his father say a single word, a spell he’d never heard: “Obliviate.”

The Davises never came around again.

* * *

To his great happiness, Peter did not bounce off the wall to lie in a bloody heap. Instead, he tumbled through it, half-somersaulting along an area rug into the hidden chamber beyond.

As he lay there on his back, scarcely believing his luck, he realized the sound of the prefects’ feet had stopped. Confused, he gingerly sat up, getting a better look at his surroundings.

The room he’d inadvertently discovered was haphazardly filled with a half-dozen chairs and couches, loosely arranged in a semi-circle further in. The stone walls matched those of the Charms corridor outside, though quaint candelabras burned at regular intervals. In one corner, a triangular bookshelf seemed to have been built perfectly into the wall, rows of books moving towards each other at a right angle before stopping with just enough space for sculpted metal flowers on each shelf.

He turned around to see the hall from which he’d entered, though his view of it seemed slightly obscured. It was almost as though there was a gelatinous film over the entryway, sealing him in safely.

The prefects who had been chasing him were actually there now, looking confused. One was a Gryffindor prefect, Frank Longbottom; he didn’t know the Hufflepuff girl. Through the entry, he could see Frank’s lips moving, but hear nothing.

Before he could stop himself, Peter clapped his hands together three times, loudly. The prefects didn’t even blink.

_(So the wall keeps the noise out there from getting in here but it also keeps the noise in here from getting out there.)_

As he watched, Frank and the other prefect began arguing, the Hufflepuff pointing toward the other end of the hallway. Peter couldn’t follow most of the conversation, but he caught the name “O’Brien.”

_(Perhaps deciding if waking O’Brien is worth it?)_

The Hufflepuff seemed to win, stalking past Longbottom with a determined look on her face. Peter watched his house’s prefect sulk a moment — at one point, even glaring straight into the wall on accident! — and then walk after her, wand out.

Peter collapsed back into a puddle on the ground. His lucky gift had paid off this time. He’d beaten a pair of prefects at their own game.

He realized suddenly that he was laughing to himself, a little manically, and forced himself to hold it all in. He took a deep breath, then another.

And then Peter turned his attention to the parcel he’d almost forgotten. In spite of everything, it still was mostly intact, save a bit of wrapping torn off at the corner. He used that tear to open the parcel all the way, revealing a simple brown box and a letter attached to it with string, which he quickly pulled away and unfolded.

_Peter,_

_Bit of an early birthday present for you. Next time you and I disagree about something, you should trust an old man’s advice. You’d have some extra records to enjoy._

_Secrecy is, of course, the name of the game with this little gift. One truly isn’t supposed to fool around with Muggle artefacts like this. And I had to do some truly fantastic bargaining to get you the German version with real stereo. But you’re my son. You deserve the best._

_Dad_

Hope and surprise fluttered in Peter’s chest. He practically shredded the box getting it open.

Within was a stripped-down turntable — just the base, the platter, the arm off to the side. He could see a record sleeve peeking out from underneath, but he didn’t need it to know what album was already loaded and ready to go. His dad had gotten him the double EP for Christmas once and always threatened to give him the American version with the extra songs but the lousy mix but this was the real thing — a stereo mix of the Beatles’ _Magical Mystery Tour_.

A collector’s dream, and Peter was more than a collector. That the Beatles were his favorite band did not make him unique — it was a fact he probably shared with every Muggleborn student in this school, and some of the halfbloods too, most like. But he’d been listening to the Fab Four since he was a child, his father having just about all of their early LPs and EPs thanks to his job in the Ministry.

_(Among some of the Muggle merchants his father dealt with, the right Beatles album could be better than gold.)_

_Magical Mystery Tour_ was the only album he hadn’t loved.

Okay, that wasn’t fair. He’d listened to the whole thing a hundred times, maybe, and every time he said to his father, “It’s not enough Beatles!”

And every time, his father had laughed at that. “There’s never enough for you,” he said once. “You probably think the White Album was half as long as it should have been.”

“Sort of,” Peter replied, crossing his arms in the living room. That only set his father off laughing harder.

That wasn’t long after the incident with the Davises. His parents had never spoken to Peter about that night, but as he and his father listened to “I Am the Walrus” for the 18th time, alone in the flat, his father finally said, “Tell me what happened over tea this January.”

Peter flushed instantly, all thoughts of Eggman vanishing from his mind. “I-I…I don’t know.”

“You do,” his father said, running a finger around the edge of his brandy glass. “Don’t hide behind false uncertainties. We both know better.”

_(Oh god.)_

“I saw…not saw…I could feel something about the tea set,” Peter said. “I knew it was originally enchanted, and I knew you or Mum had charmed it so that it wouldn’t move while the Davises were here. But if I hadn’t known it I probably still could have guessed it. Looking at it…I could just tell. That’s the only way I know how to explain it.”

His father sat there silently, studying Peter.

_(I’m a freak. Even for wizards. A freak.)_

“That’s very unique,” he said finally, speaking slowly, word by word. “I will be honest with you, Peter. I’ve never experienced anything like that. I don’t know a single person who's admitted to having that ability either. But I assure you: If you are able to cultivate this lucky little gift, you will grow to benefit immensely from it.”

“So…you aren’t angry?”

His father made a face Peter couldn’t quite comprehend. “Oh, Peter. No. I’m not angry about the Davises. One day, you will learn not to be worried about the Davises of the world either.

“But—“ His father leaned in close, looking him right in the eyes. “I think you know not to mention what happened that night to any of your friends. Yes?”

Peter didn’t say anything, afraid to give the wrong answer.

“I acted as I did to take care of his family,” his father continued. “But there are many within the Ministry — both in my department and elsewhere — who would consider the action I took inappropriate. And they would have caused us innumerable problems. So I need you to understand that the Davises must be a secret. As must your gift.”

“Of course,” Peter finally muttered, breaking eye contact with his father as he spoke.

It apparently satisfied him. “Good.”

Silence hung in the air a moment more, John Lennon’s voice long since having stopped as the turntable arm reached the center of the record. Then Peter’s father got up, picking the second EP up off the endtable. “Let’s skip to the end, shall we? I’m in a bit of a “Blue Jay Way” mood.”

And that was that. The first and last time they’d ever talked about it. But _Magical Mystery Tour_ still made him think of the Davises, and that night. Peter wondered if his parents ever thought about popping back over the hedge, to their house next door, and trying to get them to come over for one more cup of tea anyway, despite everything.

He shook the thoughts out of his head. He was in a secret, soundproof room, with the better — no, best — version of a Beatles album. And, if his father wasn’t playing a trick on him, the only working record player in Hogwarts.

Peter lifted the arm of the turntable, holding it over the black vinyl and familiar green apple in the center. A small crank on the side of the turntable began turning of its own accord, and the record started to spin slowly around and around. So he put the needle down.

Warm, resonant and in perfect stereo, a perfect Beatles harmony burst into life all around him.

* * *

The sharp, dissonant wail of the Hogwarts Express whistle was the first thing Peter heard as he walked through the wall at Platform 9 3/4. All around him, children and parents were bustling about, both groups’ chatter sounding like a bundle of nerves and excitement. Peter could only sympathize with half of that. His stomach was zigging this way and that like a Golden Snitch.

“It’s so huge,” Peter said as they walked along the platform. His father laughed and clapped a hand on his shoulder.

“That it is,” he said. “You’ll get used to it. After a few years, this’ll just seem like an awfully long-winded way of getting to school. I always thought Portkeys might have been a cleverer idea, but people do love their traditions.”

“I always liked the Hogwarts Express,” Peter’s mother said. “It was nice to have a couple of hours alone with your thoughts before a new school year, I thought.”

There was a strange waver in her voice — had been all day. Before they flooed into Diagon Alley, he’d even come upstairs to ask if she knew where his trainers were and found her crying alone in their room. She hadn’t shown a sign of it when she came downstairs later, but Peter had been keeping an eye on her all day, just in case.

“Arthur!” A brusque man’s voice turned Peter’s head. An older man he didn’t know in a boxy black suit and foot-tall top hat was walking toward the three of them, sticking his hand out toward Peter’s father.

“Phineas!” His father stepped away, eagerly clasping the man’s hand. “What are you doing here? I thought all of your sons were out of Hogwarts.”

“Oh, no, Jasper still has one year left. Doesn’t want anything to do with me, of course — he’s already on the train with his friends. Thought I might stick around and see if I could catch you — figured you’d be here with…”

“Peter,” his father said, ushering him forward. “Peter, this is my boss at the Ministry. Phineas Steele.”

“Nice to meet you,” Peter said, bashfully keeping his hands at his side.

“And you know Anna, of course.”

Peter’s mother took a step forward, nodding her head slightly. “Phineas. Good to see you again.”

“Of course,” Phineas said, tipping his hat so low it looked like he might drop it on accident. “Do you have a moment before you put your son on the good old Hogwarts Express, Arthur?”

“Certainly,” he replied. “Peter — I know you’re eager to get off to Hogwarts, but don’t get on that train until I get back, all right? I’ve got a present for you before you go.”

Somehow, Peter had never felt less eager to go anywhere.

His father walked off with Phineas, whispering back and forth with the older wizard, and Peter turned back to look at his mother. “Mum…I don’t want to go. I’m not ready. All these kids are gonna be better than me. I’m not even good at doing magic on accident.”

Somehow, that made his mum look like she was going to cry again. But instead, she walked over and crouched down in front of him, her face right in front of his. “Listen to me, Peter. This is a big, big day for you. And it’s okay to be afraid when big moments like this happen.”

“But—”

“ _But…_ ” She cut Peter off with her own interjection before he could get more than a word in. “I know you. And I know that you are ready for this. Even—especially if it doesn’t feel like you are ready.

“You’re going to get on that train today, and go up to that castle, and get sorted into your house. And it’s going to be the most important moment for you. It’s going to set you on a path that you can’t even imagine yet.”

His mother was crying again, a pair of tears trickling down her face. “It’s going to be an amazing moment for you. I’m going to be so proud. And nothing that happens to you…nothing bad that happens to you…nothing should take that away, okay? You just have to know that I am _always_ going to be proud of you. My little glow worm.”

Peter blushed. “Mummm.”

Without taking the hint, she leaned forward and put her arms tightly around him. “I know, I’m sorry. I just…I’m going to miss you, Peter.”

“Mum, come on,” Peter said, wriggling in her grasp. “You’re gonna embarrass me.”

“Alright,” she said, standing back up and wiping her face. “I’m sorry. I remember what it was like to be where you’re standing, with my parents fussing over me practically all the way up to the train. My first year at Hogwarts wasn’t so long ago, you know.”

“I guess,” Peter said. “I just don’t even know what house I want to be in. I don’t feel like any of them are me. I’m not smart enough to be a Ravenclaw like Dad. I’m not determined and strong enough to be a Slytherin like you.”

“Peter, you don’t have to fit perfectly into your house on the first day.” His mum gave a hint of a smile. “I certainly didn’t. I was terrified my first few weeks at school — our common room was all the way down in the dungeons, and there were _so_ many illustrious families. The Minister for Magic’s son was Head Boy, even! But I grew into it. And you will too. No matter which house you end up in.”

“Sorry about that.” Peter’s father came up behind them, Phineas nowhere to be seen. “Awfully rude of Phineas to ambush me like that, I think, but we did get some nice things worked out. Everyone ready to put Ringo and the luggage on the train?”

“Yes,” his mother said, pushing a thick strand of blonde hair out of her eyes. “I think we’re all ready to go.”

After everything was settled and he’d said his goodbyes and gotten settled in a carriage full of chatty first-years, Peter turned to look out the window at his parents. They were standing a bit apart, his father cheerily waving and his mother just looking with her arms folded across her waist. She might have been crying again, just a little. But it didn’t look like the same crying as before. Not at all.

* * *

By the time Peter woke up the next morning, the sun was blazing in through the curtains of his bed. Rubbing his eyes, he reached blindly toward his nightstand until he found his alarm clock, pulling it closer. 11:46. He’d _definitely_ missed breakfast.

_(No wonder, considering you were out in your secret cubbyhole until 12 in the morning.)_

It seemed he was the only boy left in the dorm when he finally rolled all the way out of bed, so he showered and dressed quickly, heading down to the Great Hall. The hall was about half full when he arrived, many of the students popping in a moment to sweep an armful of food off a table and then head toward the courtyard.

At the Gryffindor table, Remus was absent again, but James, Jack, and Daisy were there, chatting animatedly about something he couldn’t hear. Next to Jack, a small owl with ruffled feathers was picking at a plate as if it hadn’t eaten in days.

“Ringo!” Peter hurried over to his messenger owl, sitting down right in front of him without saying hi to his fellow first-years.

“Hi to you too,” James said drily. “What’s a Ringo?”

Daisy yelped, causing the other first-years and some kids further down to whip their heads toward her in surprise. “Gosh,” she finally said. “That’s the saddest thing I’ve heard a wizard say since I got here.”

“Was there a letter with him?” Peter asked. He was looking around the table, but couldn’t see one.

“Here,” Jack said, pulling it out from his pocket. “Your ‘Ringo’ was fluttering around in such a panic when it got here that it almost knocked a goblet of pumpkin juice on the letter. Figured I’d drop it upstairs when I went back to the common room in a bit.”

“Where were you last night, anyway?” James said. “We were up chatting in the common room until way past curfew and never saw you get in.”

“Um, out.” He took the letter from Jack and got up from the table, Ringo flying away as he did.

“Wait, aren’t you eating?” James said. “You just got here. We’re not going to laugh at you for getting a letter from your mum.”

“Eating, sure.” Peter reached over and took a meat pie off the table with his bare hands, noshing on it as he scurried back down the length of the Great Hall, ignoring Jack and James’s shouts from behind him.

He stopped at the top of one of the smaller staircases off the hall, sitting on a bench in an alcove. Finishing the last bite of his pie, he flipped his thumb under the envelope’s seal. Maybe whatever his parents had written him would explain why Ringo had been gone so long.

_Dearest Peter,_

_You must have written this letter right away — I didn’t expect to hear from you so soon. I hope by now your uncertainties about ending up in Gryffindor have faded. The Sorting Hat doesn’t make its decisions lightly, and I know if it chose Gryffindor for you instead of Slytherin it must have known that was the best place for you._

_I do not know if you will have heard from your father yet. I am keeping Ringo here for a day to rest, but nonetheless I suspect not. He is too proud, and, I assume, too angry._

_I am not in London, Peter. Nor am I with your father. After you left our home, I left it too, as soon as I was able._

_This will be a shock. I know. It breaks my heart to break yours. But for years now, living with your father has been… difficult. Not in any way you would have seen, or known. We are both very good liars, your father and I. It’s truth we have trouble with._

_I cannot tell you those truths, not yet. It is not safe, for me or for you, to talk about them. But you must never fear for your safety from your father. For all his flaws, for all the things about him that have finally driven me to this bold, final act — he has worked very, very hard to ensure none of his actions will ever touch you. If I believed he was incapable of securing that, I would have endured another seven years of life with him to protect you._

_I know that in leaving, I may give up all my rights as your mother. Your father will surely tell you that I left because I didn’t love you both anymore, but that is not true. A part of me loves him still, despite everything, and my whole heart shall forever love you. But I must leave you both regardless._

_I hope you shall forgive me enough to write; I shall not again until I know it will not further hurt you. I have not yet decided exactly where we are going, but I do not travel alone. There is a man — a Muggle, unbelievably enough — who has enough faith and trust in me to leave his homeland too and embark with me to the Continent, and wherever else our journey takes us. One day I think I should like you to meet him._

_Oh, Peter. I wish I could have truly said goodbye. And I hope this goodbye is not the last for us._

_Shine bright, my little glow worm._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to everyone who's reading so far! This (along with the first chapter) is one of the first bits of this fic I wrote, a million years ago...but unlike that chapter, this one has had some EXTREMELY extensive revising. (Less mind control, more realistic depiction of divorce; you know how it goes.)


	4. Chains

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Remus Lupin never thought he was going to get to go to Hogwarts, until Albus Dumbledore showed up on his doorstep.
> 
> Now that he's here, he's not sure it's such a good idea.

Remus Lupin didn’t need a calendar or a schedule to tell him when the full moon was coming. He could smell it, all around him, like burnt silver.

In an attempt to shake the odor, he’d found himself spending his Saturday buried among the shelves of the Hogwarts library. True, he had actual work to do: multiple chapters’ reading in Transfiguration, that essay for Defense Against the Dark Arts, some early research for their first project in Potions on Monday. But his classmates were either doing that in the common room or putting it off until tomorrow — with good reason. He’d briefly lived in about this part of Scotland with his parents a few years back, and this was around the time when the weather started to slip from fine to intermittently horrid.

The “book-smell” just soothed him. He was glad — very glad — to be in Gryffindor, but that didn’t mean he was all brawn and no brains. And it wasn’t like he got the opportunity much. His parents only kept a handful of books in the house. They’d sold most of them over the years, in one move or another.

“Mr. Lupin?”

An ancient witch peered out from around a bookshelf, round glasses like goggles over her eyes. “Sorry to disturb you, dear, but you’ve got a message from Dumbledore.”

Remus blinked. “I’m sorry, what?”

“Albus Dumbledore, Hogwarts Headmaster. He’d like to invite you to his office for a chat.”

“Chat?” Remus’s brain must have been misfiring. “Isn’t he busy?

“I imagine so,” she replied, “but I think he’s supposed to be busy chatting with you.”

“Bollocks,” Remus muttered under his breath, shoving books back into his bag. He’d assumed that he’d be getting summoned to the nurse’s office at some point tonight or tomorrow, to talk about…tomorrow. But he hadn’t even considered the possibility that Dumbledore himself might want to talk to him.

The librarian walked him ever so slowly out to the main entrance, and only then told him how to get to Dumbledore’s office. Remus practically sprinted. The man got him into Hogwarts, and now Remus was making him wait!

Two staircases and one narrowly averted wrong turn later, Remus was there, trainers slapping against the cobblestones as he slowed to a halt in front of a leering gargoyle. “Okay, okay,” he panted. “the old witch said the password was…was…”

“Candy floss.”

The gargoyle started to corkscrew upward at the sound of the voice behind him, and Remus turned to see Professor Dumbledore himself, in surprisingly vibrant blue robes. The headmaster was carrying his own book with him, a ludicrously thick tome tucked haphazardly under his arm.

“Good day to you, Remus,” Dumbledore said, eyes twinkling. “I have to say, you’re even more efficient than I suspected. Usually when I invite a first-year to my office from two floors away, I can count on a solid half-hour before I see them again. Especially when Madam Fludd has to search the stacks for him.”

“Yes, well…sorry, I just—”

“Remus, I always recommend against apologizing after being complimented,” Dumbledore continued. “If nothing else, it will make future dinner parties terribly awkward. Shall we go up?”

Dumbledore gestured to the stairwell, and Remus suddenly realized the headmaster was waiting for him to go first. “Oh, of course.”

Remus wasn’t entirely certain whether the proper etiquette when riding a magically ascending stairwell was to walk with it or just wait, but Dumbledore didn’t seem in much of a hurry, so he hesitated after taking a few steps.

“You caught me returning from Professor Slughorn’s chambers,” Dumbledore said. “I’d loaned him my copy of _Memories of Magic’s Mightiest Magi_ for some light summer reading. Pity, though. He too thinks the first 25 pages really drag.”

Remus couldn’t tell if Dumbledore was joking. Or, if so, in what part of the sentence.

“But it was nice to have a chat with Slughorn about some old students. He and I started teaching at Hogwarts at just about the same time, you know.”

“Oh?” Remus hadn’t really met Professor Slughorn yet. His first Potions class was Monday morning, and he was not looking forward to it. The morning after a transformation, he was always exhausted, and often sore from the strain of fighting against his bonds.

“Well, perhaps not quite. When you’re as old as I am, Remus, you tend to round to the nearest decade or two.”

The stairwell was moving slowly, so slowly, but Dumbledore’s invite had been to chat, so Remus took him at face value instead of starting to walk upward. “Were you talking about any students in particular?”

“I was,” Dumbledore replied, a strange expression on his face, “but he was not. Which made it very difficult for either of us to have the conversation either of us wanted to.”

Remus had thought Dumbledore’s start of term speech was hard to follow — “only a sentence or two, because your time at Hogwarts will be shorter than you expect, but in Mermish, because what you learn here shall often be confusing and difficult to understand” — but this conversation was coming in at a close second.

They reached the top, and Remus stepped through ajar oaken doors into a mesmerizingly beautiful room. The floors, walls and columns within were constructed of a creamy white marble, though the texture under his feet felt more like plush carpeting. Along those walls were portrait after portrait, each seeming to depict either an empty room or a dozing witch or wizard.

A series of ticks, clicks and dings drew his attention to the left, where a half dozen tables were stacked in a pyramid formation, silvery devices cluttered on every one, along with a large empty bird cage and an assortment of other furniture. The sight of them made him shiver instinctively. He knew from asking his father a hundred times that silver would do absolutely nothing to harm him…but that argument didn’t work on his skin, which crawled at the sight of it.

“Apologies for the mess,” Dumbledore said, stepping past Remus and walking toward a bookshelf on the right side of the room near his desk. The shelf was half-empty, but filling steadily with books floating out of a trunk, seeming to sort themselves as they went. The books stopped moving as he approached and slid _Memories of Magic’s Mightiest Magi_ into an open space at eye level. “I’d intended to finish re-organizing the space over the summer, but other matters not worth mentioning demanded my attention. Tea?”

“Um, yes, thank you.” Remus moved closer to the headmaster, away from the instruments. He did notice one separated from the group, on Dumbledore’s desk; two spheres, one mounted to its base with a spike and the other, smaller hovering a few inches away from the other. Like a moon.

Dumbledore waved his wand, and two armchairs and an endtable materialized in between them, the latter laden with a complete tea set. The smell was exquisite. Remus hated that he could already pick up on the bergamot from a yard away.

“Please, sit,” the headmaster said, doing so himself and adding a pair of sugar cubes. Remus settled for just a tiny splash of milk and tried to hold the cup without his hand shaking.

“So,” Dumbledore said after a few moments of silence. “we should talk about how things are going to be during your time here at Hogwarts.”

Here it comes, Remus thought, the warnings, the threats, the reminders that every other teacher is going to be watching at all times and if you so much as smile too wide at another student you’re out, goodbye, wand snapped in half and you’re out in the world to effectively be a monster 28 days out of 28 instead of just 1.

“As I told you and your parents earlier this year, Remus, I believe every single wizarding child in Britain deserves the same chance to attend this school. This is not an opinion that is shared by every wizard and witch in Britain.

“But the difference between them and me, Remus, is that they are afraid of both you and me, and I am afraid of neither you nor them.”

Remus’s hands began to still. Was this…was Dumbledore…

“Your classmates have not and will not be informed of your condition. I believe that is your secret to disclose if and when you choose to do so, although I will advise you at least give it a year or two. I know that in the blush of first friendship, it may feel as though you know the boys and girls in your year well. But even your closest friends may surprise you with what is in their hearts.

“At the end of last term, I chose to let the faculty know of my decision to formally invite you to join this year’s class of first-years. With one exception, they were unanimously in favor. That exception is the reason we have a new Arithmancy professor this year.”

Remus was starting to feel as though he had slipped into a very strange daydream. “Professor…I don’t take Arithmancy.”

“I am aware of that,” Dumbledore replied, his blue eyes suddenly blazing with fury. “But you may, one day. Or perhaps you may not. But either way, there is now no obstacle to your education in the form of former professor Termina Max. Do I make my point clear?”

“Yes,” Remus said. He was _definitely_ in some sort of daydream.

“Good.” Dumbledore took a long sip of his tea, seeming to calm as he did. “Now. After consulting with our matron, Madam Pomfrey, as well as our groundskeeper Rubeus Hagrid, we’ve come up with a method to allow you to transform safely every full moon. You may remember Professor Sprout mentioning it at the start-of-term feast: The Whomping Willow.”

That threw Remus for a loop. He remembered the professor mentioning the new addition to the grounds — a rare, dangerous plant endangered by a Muggle development outside of Edinburgh — but had honestly gotten distracted at that point because further down the table, one of the Prewett twins had started telling a frankly unbelievable story about trying to flirt with some professional Quidditch player over the summer. “Professor, I don’t see how a scary tree is going to going to help me every month.”

“You see, Remus, the tree is a distraction. And a guard. Every month, Madam Pomfrey will take you down to the tree before the full moon rises. I’ve placed an enchantment on this particular Whomping Willow, a sort of delayed Freezing Charm. When a particular knot at the base is pressed, the Whomping Willow will stop moving — allowing you to enter a secret tunnel hidden by the tree.

“Madam Pomfrey will travel with you through that tunnel, which will lead to an abandoned home the school has purchased in the village of Hogsmeade. It’s distant enough from the center of the village that no one should come near it — and any noises that are heard while you there will be chalked up to ghosts or other specters. Some unsavory bartenders in the village have been spreading rumors about an old couple dying out there after 50 years of fighting.”

Dumbledore’s mouth quirked back a little into a smile as he said that last bit, and it occurred to Remus that perhaps the headmaster was not taking this quite as seriously as he should be. Was that possible? Dumbledore was supposed to be the world’s greatest wizard, but maybe all that power had gone to his head.

“Headmaster…” he began, “this all sounds like a nice plan. But I…I honestly can’t tell you what it’s like when I…change. I’ve seen what happens after, though. I’m a bloody, sore mess. Whatever hole my parents have found for me is half-dismantled, no matter how they try to restrain me. When I was seven, I got out once. The only reason I didn’t kill my next door neighbors is because my father brought half their house down on top of me first.

“I was seven, Professor. A seven-year-old monster. And now I’m an 11-year-old monster and you’re telling me you’ve got this great plan but it sounds like I’m just going to break out and hurt someone.”

He’d begun crying somewhere in the middle of his speech, and the realization only made it worse. An embarrassed, muffled hiccough turned into full body sobs, and he turned away from Dumbledore, mortified. Great. Now he was a crying baby werewolf.

“Mr. Lupin,” Dumbledore said, as Remus’s tears began to finally subside. “I understand your trepidation. That is why you and I are going to visit the house tonight.”

“Tonight?” Remus choked out. “Professor, the full moon isn’t until tomorrow.”

“And Poppy will take you back tomorrow,” Dumbledore replied. “But I think it’s important for you to see it first. Spend some time there. Maybe even stay the night, if you feel up to it.”

Remus didn’t truly know what to make of that. Was he supposed to be excited about getting to see his monthly prison a day early? But he wasn’t going to contradict the man in charge of Hogwarts, responsible for him being here at all.

“Sure,” he said. “I guess we can do that.”

“Splendid,” Dumbledore said, vanishing the tea set with a clap of his hands. “I will plan to meet you after dinner, then, in the courtyard outside the Great Hall. I think your classmates will be sufficiently distracted to not see us depart.”

“Of course,” Remus said. “Should I go, then?”

“If you would like,” Dumbledore said, after a moment. “Until this evening.”

Aside from full moons, Remus couldn’t recall an evening he was less looking forward to.

* * *

Remus stomped out of the castle, hating himself for it. He shouldn’t have barked at James and Peter about things as stupid as owl post and History of Magic. They didn’t know what he was dealing with. But he always got like this as the full moon approached, and the burnt silver smell crept in, and the needlepoints tiptoed down his back. Irritable. Unpleasant. Inhuman.

True to his word, Dumbledore was waiting, this time in robes so dark grey they almost looked black, even in the moonlight. “Good evening, Remus,” he said. “I’m glad you came.”

“I mean, I said I was going to,” he grumbled. Great. Now I’m mouthing off to the Headmaster of Hogwarts.

Dumbledore gave him a sad little smile and turned slightly toward the grounds. “Come along. It’s a bit of a walk.”

The two of them shuffled along the path to the main gate, deserted at this time of night.

“I’m not sure if you’ve seen the Willow yet,” Dumbledore said, after a while, “but we’ve placed it near the entrance to the Forbidden Forest, about parallel with the Quidditch pitch. So it won’t be a long walk for you and Madame Pomfrey.”

“Am I just supposed to play sick one month out of the year then?” Remus hated the way his voice sounded, but Dumbledore didn’t seem to notice or care.

“If you’d like. Professor McGonagall and I have determined that you should tell your friends whatever untruth you feel comfortable with.”

“I told a few people I had a family emergency,” Remus replied. “I just…I don’t want everyone to think that I’m dying or something.”

“That’s not the worst attitude, Remus. Not in the slightest.”

Remus could see the tree now. Gnarled and misshapen, the Whomping Willow seemed like a normal tree, its long leafy branches beginning to shift from green to yellow. As they approached, Remus saw a hawk approach on the wing, and the tree reacted like it was trying to swat a gnat. With a whipcrack, three branches moved to strike at the bird, which managed to barely evade the blows and go flapping off into the distance.

“Well you certainly picked the right tree,” Remus said. “No one’s going to be stupid enough to mess with that thing.”

“You’d be surprised,” Dumbledore replied. “On Thursday afternoon, Madame Pomfrey spent half the day putting a 6th year Ravenclaw’s ribcage back together. At least his interest was academic — he wanted to see if the Whomping Willow’s joints resembled human arms or not. Admirable initiative.”

Dumbledore stopped walking a few yards away from the tree, casting his eye about the ground. “Similar to you in your changed state, Remus, the Willow is selective in what it targets, albeit less picky. It will lash out at anything it deems sentient — not just humans, as that hawk nearly learned to its chagrin. But a simple stick? That it shall never suspect.”

As he spoke, Dumbledore flicked his wand in the direction of a broken tree branch. The branch slid delicately through the air up to the tree, pressing into a small knot at the base of the Whomping Willow.

The tree had been mostly still before, but now it seemed to go completely stiff — more like a statue of a tree than a real one.

“And that,” Dumbledore said with a proud smile, “is how you are going to get in and out of Hogwarts every month.”

At the base of the Willow, the roots separated slightly to expose a tunnel dug into the soil. Both of them had to get down on their hands and knees to get in — Remus was horribly mortified to be making Dumbledore do it, but the headmaster seemed hardly inconvenienced. There was a short slide, then the tunnel opened up to a small, low-ceilinged chamber, lit by an orb of light Dumbledore had conjured when Remus wasn’t looking.

“Apologies for the size of the tunnel,” Dumbledore said. Even in this larger space, the tall professor had to slump; Remus was afraid he was going to have to crawl through the tunnel ahead. “Professor Brocken advised us to narrow the original tunnel we built a bit — she was worried you might stumble across it in your werewolf form and make your way all the way back to the castle.”

“It’s fine,” Remus said. Not for the first time, he wondered why Dumbledore was bothering with all of this.

After a short walk in silence, Remus saw a new source of light ahead — moonlight, seeping into the tunnel from a room beyond. They stepped through into a large, still room with a table and a few armchairs scattered about. The windows were all boarded up, except for one or two broken panes high up, out of reach. The orb of light Dumbledore had created drifted to rest just below them, casting strange shadows across the room.

it didn’t feel right.

“Here we are,” Dumbledore said. “Shall we take a tour before we sit down? There’s an exemplary four-poster in the bedroom that actually came with the property.”

Wordlessly, Remus followed Dumbledore into the next room, a thin hall with a stairwell going up and metal bars criss-crossing the front door, and then into the unfurnished kitchen. He could hear the professor talking, pointing out this thing and that, but in his mind Remus still felt like he was in that tunnel, squinting at the dim light ahead.

They went up the stairs, into this room and that. The four-poster bed didn’t shake him out of it, no matter how many times Dumbledore complimented the deep violet curtains. Nor did the library, with its curved, empty, sad bookshelves. Or the attic loft, with its tinted, floor-to-ceiling windows that refused to break, no matter how many spells or pieces of furniture the headmaster flung at it.

Without him realizing it, they were back in the first room, and there was a strange noise. Silence, Remus realized. Dumbledore had sat down in one of the chairs and was just studying him, waiting. The look on his face suggested the headmaster had asked Remus a question some time ago and was no longer expecting an answer.

“I don’t understand,” Remus finally said, running his hand along the table. “This is just a normal house with the windows sealed up.”

“Of course it is,” Dumbledore replied slowly. “What were you expecting, Remus?”

“I was expecting this place to be a molding deathtrap!” Remus replied, voice louder than he meant it to be. “I thought it would just be a big empty room without any of this stuff in here just for me to break!

“But it’s just a normal house,” he repeated, sitting down on top of the table. “Where are my restraints, Professor? Where are the ropes, locks, handcuffs, and chains? That’s what I don’t understand, Professor Dumbledore. Why aren’t you chaining me up like I’m supposed to be?”

Dumbledore’s expression didn’t change a bit. “You won’t be needing them, Remus. Not here. As long as you’re here at Hogwarts, no one is going to hurt you just so they feel a little bit safer.”

For the second time that day, Remus Lupin burst into tears.

* * *

Somehow, over the course of a half dozen games of Gobstones on the floor — Remus still could not believe a wizard as distinguished and talented as Dumbledore was a _Gobstones_ player — he told the professor everything.

How bewildering it was the first few times he changed, growing irritable and cranky until his parents shoved him into a closet, hours before moonrise.

That he used to pack all his clothes back up in a suitcase every month in case this time he changed was one where they had to run right afterward, or that six months before Dumbledore turned up on their doorstep he’d stopped unpacking altogether.

That two weeks after his 10th birthday, when he broke down the door and nearly killed his mother, his parents had gone out to buy a pair of heavy cast-iron manacles that together weighed as much as he did. And it still was barely enough to keep him in the basement during the next full moon.

“I don’t blame them,” Remus said, absent-mindedly rubbing his left wrist. “I’m dangerous. They were just trying to protect themselves from me.”

“That may be so,” Dumbledore replied, rolling a Gobstone between his thumb and forefinger. “But you must know, Remus, that just because one is dangerous, that does not always justify the actions others take to protect themselves. Or the actions they take to protect a child from him or herself.

“Perhaps — no, I think not.” Dumbledore placed the stone on the ground, aiming it with a great deal of focus. “You don’t have any interest in the history of an old man like me.”

“I—” Remus began to contradict the headmaster, but Dumbledore flicked his Gobstone first, sending it into two of Remus’s. Both sprayed him in the face as they rolled out of the circle, causing any thoughts of Dumbledore’s personal life to scatter similarly.

“Apologies again,” Dumbledore said, serious face betraying itself with the hint of a smile. “I’m afraid I have several decades’ practice with the trick shots, and sometimes it’s difficult for even a Hogwarts headmaster to resist showing off.”

“I guess I appreciate being treated like a worthy opponent,” Remus replied, only half-bitterly.

“You are,” he replied. “I also have several decades’ worth of forgetfulness to worry about.”

Remus shot one of Dumbledore’s Gobstones out next, and then the headmaster missed a shot. It only felt a little like he was handicapping Remus.

“So,” Dumbledore said as Remus was preparing for his next shot, “what do you do when you’re not being a werewolf?”

Remus sat up straight, completely disarmed. “I’m always a werewolf, Professor.”

“Of course,” Dumbledore said, adjusting his position on the floor. “I didn’t mean to offend. I merely am curious about your… hobbies, perhaps — aside from Gobstones, of course. Or whom you’ve chosen to befriend here at Hogwarts.”

“I don’t know that I’ve befriended anyone,” Remus replied. “I mean, I know most of the other Gryffindors my age, I guess, and a few of the older students. I talk to James and Peter the most, I guess. Though I wasn’t particularly friendly with them at dinner today.”

Dumbledore didn’t respond right away, and Remus felt compelled to explain. “It’s the full moon. Or near-full. So I said some things I shouldn’t have to them and stormed out because all the moonlight makes me itchy and I can’t handle regular people when it’s making me itchy.”

“I’m sorry to hear that,” Dumbledore replied.

“It’s not your fault. It’s just… Days like this, I wonder. I wonder if it’s my condition that makes me behave this way. Or if I’m always like this. Always unfriendly, and mean, and not worth being around.” Trailing off, Remus sadly flicked his last Gobstone into the circle, missing all of Dumbledore’s by an inch on each side.

“Take the advice of an old man, Remus. That feeling has nothing to do with being a werewolf. The difference between you and your friends isn’t that you shapeshift once a month. It’s that you’ve already learned that it’s easier to withdraw than reach out and let someone else in.”

Remus was suddenly struck by the ridiculousness of the situation and began laughing. Here he was, an 11-year-old werewolf, sitting on the floor of an abandoned shack playing Gobstones with the headmaster of his school, talking about the best way to make friends.

To his credit, Dumbledore didn’t ask why he was near rolling about on the floor. He just chuckled a little to himself, and then waved his wand over the Gobstones set, vanishing it in an instant. “Something tells me that we might be wrapping things up for the evening,” he said. “Do you think you’ll be staying here tonight, or returning to the castle?”

Remus stopped laughing cold. The question seemed like it had an obvious answer. “I mean… I’m alone. Don’t you have to take me back to the grounds, not leave me here unsupervised?”

“You’ll be unsupervised whenever Madam Pomfrey brings you here, and much more dangerous than you are this evening,” Dumbledore said, getting to his feet. “I trust you to stay here alone, if you would like.”

“Why would I stay in this cage a night longer than I have to?” The words spilled out before Remus remembered who he was speaking to. Damn the moon.

Once again, Dumbledore didn’t seem to hear Remus’ tone, much to his relief. “If you would like to return to the castle with me, you’re more than welcome. But I brought you out here tonight because I hoped you would take the opportunity to get as comfortable as you could here, in this space. Play a few games of Gobstones. Stay up too late eating junk food. Sleep in that four-poster bed upstairs.”

“You may as well take the bed with us,” Remus snapped. “By this time tomorrow, I’ll probably have torn it completely to bits.

“Probably,” Dumbledore replied. “You are a werewolf, Remus, and if I could provide you with a cure I would give it to you this very moment. But I can’t. What I can provide you, for tonight, is a gorgeous antique bed, with an enchanted mattress, and the time to experience this safe space before it becomes the home of a werewolf. If you don’t have any interest in that, I won’t be offended. But you only have tonight to take advantage of it.”

Part of Remus wanted to scream at Dumbledore. Shout about how his gift was worthless and meaningless. Tear this room apart with his bare hands.

But that was the werewolf in him. And all he could hear was Dumbledore’s question from earlier: What do you do when you’re not being a werewolf?

* * *

Remus lay on his back, sheets of the bed cool against his body. There was scarcely a sound — a bird call here and there, muffled by the charms on the walls and windows. The mattress was firm, but molded gently around his body. Just the way he liked it.

“I’m going to trash this bed,” he said to the ceiling, a peeling blue. “This bed, the table, every chair, each mirror, the walls, the floorboards.”

Saying it all out loud didn’t make it feel any better. But Dumbledore was right. He was never going to sleep in this bed again. At least he was sleeping in it now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I promise, we're going to leave the first weekend the boys are at school eventually! This chapter and the last two occupy approximately the same amount of time -- it's clearest in this one, where you see what happens to Remus after he storms out of dinner on Saturday night.
> 
> And yes, Dumbledore is already trying to pick Slughorn's brain about a Mr. Thomas Riddle...


	5. Boys

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It was supposed to be simple: Sneak out of the common room, head downstairs to watch a ghost duel, head back up to the common room. It was supposed to be an adventure, not a disaster.
> 
> Okay, maybe it was still a little an adventure.

James hadn’t really been sure where his impromptu stroll out-of-bounds was going to take him, but running away from an enraged, hex-slinging prefect had certainly not been on the agenda.

“ _Patinestra_!”

James zigged left at the sound of the prefect’s voice — directly into Sirius, who’d zagged right. As they tumbled to the ground, James heard a _clicker-clack_ rush past his ear and watched as a silver crescent smashed right into a statue of a tall warrior woman, flipping her knees from front to back.

“Ouch _._ ” Sirius’s tone was _extremely_ more sarcastic than necessary. “Watch where you’re going, Potter.”

“Really, Black?”

“Both of you, shut up!” Remus had turned around, facing the incoming prefect down the long hall. “Ugh. I’m going to end up with detention for weeks. _Incendio_!”

The prefect ducked for cover instinctively, but Remus’s wand — and the burst of flame issuing from it — were pointed upward, at the long row of tapestries hanging from the ceiling. Now ablaze, they snapped free from the ceiling, falling in between the three of them and the cowering prefect.

“Merlin’s beard,” James breathed, as Sirius helped him to his feet. “How’d you know how to do that?”

Remus looked at him, disgusted. “Really? Neither of you bothered to read ahead in your spellbooks? What are you doing all weekend when you’re not in class?”

“Sleeping?” Sirius spat.

“Later,” James said, grabbing them both by the sleeves. “Come on, hurry.”

They moved together this time, to the right, toward a side staircase that James knew about. As long as it was stopping on the seventh floor tonight, they might be able to get up to Gryffindor Tower before—

Rounding the corner, James hit something at full speed, tumbling to the ground. It took until he came to a stop a few steps down for him to realize what he had run into. It was Peter Pettigrew, on his way down the steps.

“What is he doing here?” Remus said, looking frantically over his shoulder.

“I don’t give a damn,” Sirius replied. “Come on, we’ve got to get upstairs.”

“Can’t,” Peter said, with a squeak in his voice. “I just came from there. This stairwell cuts off about three steps away from the fifth floor tonight.”

“Bloody hell,” Sirius muttered under his breath.

“We’ve got to figure out another way to get upstairs fast then,” James said to the assembled foursome. “You too, Peter.”

“Why?” The small boy got to his feet, clinging against the wall for stability. “Did a prefect catch you out?”

“Worse,” James said, grabbing Peter by the arm and pulling him down the steps. “We caught him.”

* * *

“Remus, wake up.” James shook his friend’s shoulder gently, trying to wake him without startling him.

“Whattisit?” Remus brushed his bangs out of his eyes as he shifted into a half sitting position. “Breakfast already?”

“No, dummy. It’s still nighttime.”

“Ugh, that’s so disappointing.”

Remus rolled back over, away from James. so he started shaking him again. “Come on, mate, wake up. I’ve got to ask you something.”

“If this is about Professor McGonagall’s exam next week, I’m going to be really annoyed that you didn’t take me up on studying earlier tonight.”

“It’s not about _school_.” Ideas like that made James wonder why he and Remus were even friends. “It’s about tonight. We’re going out.”

That finally got Remus’s attention. “Out?” he asked, eyes blinking repeatedly. “It’s the middle of the night.”

“That’s why we need to be quiet about it,” James replied. “Remember how you went up to bed early tonight, but I stayed down chatting with those third-years?”

“Yeah,” Remus said. “You called me a baby.”

“Well, after you went upstairs,” James said, pretending he hadn’t heard Remus, “they told me about the most amazing thing happening tonight. And I want us to sneak out and try to see it.”

“Seriously?” Remus was interested now, though it seemed like he was trying not to show it. “What’s happening?”

“I heard…that the Black Knight and the Bloody Baron are having a duel down in that long hallway on the second floor.”

“Bit of a foregone conclusion, innit?” Remus mumbled. “They’re both dead already.”

“Seriously, Remus,” James said, shaking him again. “We’re in. A magic. Castle. Don’t you want to just run around every inch of it sometimes?”

The other boy thought about that a minute, and then properly sat up. “Alright, fine. Give me a moment to put some trousers on.”

“I’m coming with.”

James poked his head back out of Remus’s curtains to see that Sirius had already jumped out of bed and was coming toward them, talking at a whisper. “I can’t sleep and I’m bored to death. Count me in for some ghost jousting.”

“It’s not an open invite, Black.” James crossed his arms over his chest as Remus rolled out of bed and started to get dressed on the other side. “You want to slither around the castle, do it on your own time.”

“Okay,” Sirius said, staring him down. “Then after you go out on your little adventure, I’ll set off some alarm bells in the hall until a prefect comes running. I’m sure they’ll be understanding of my minor indiscretion since it was all to catch some curfew-breakers red-handed.”

“You’re bluffing. We leave, you’re going to go right back to bed to cry yourself to sleep.”

“Care to gamble on it, Potter?”

“Shut. Up.” Remus’s voice cut through the air like a professor’s; he was already dressed in his robes. “James, stop being such a git. I don’t care if he comes but I don’t need you waking up the others and turning this into a full field trip.”

Scowling, James shoved past Sirius to go around to his wardrobe, changing without a word. Sirius did the same, and in a moment the three boys were headed down into the common room, their voices slipping out of whispers as they got further from the dormitories.

“Well,” Remus whispered. “We’re ready. Now what? We just go downstairs and hope a prefect doesn’t notice us?”

“Obviously we can’t take the Grand Staircase, since those get patrolled constantly,” James said. “So we need to take side stairs until we can get down to the second floor. Hopefully we don’t miss any of the duel.”

“There’s a good set of stairs on the other end of the hall,” Sirius said, as they reached the hearth. “They go all the way down to the fourth floor, so we’d be halfway there.”

“Good find,” James said. He was honestly impressed. “How’d you come across that?”

Sirius hung his head, twisting one heel into the floor. “Remember when I was late to Charms a few weeks ago? I overslept, and I was so worried about O’Brien docking me points again that I ran down the hall the wrong way and had to commit to the wrong staircase. I’d actually have made it on time if I’d realized the staircase lets you out on the other side of the castle.”

“I will never get used to magical staircases,” Remus muttered.

“Wait…so it lets you out on the east side of the castle instead of right below Gryffindor Tower?” James asked.

“That’s right,” Sirius said. “The stairs seem circular but it’s a trick — I think you’re going through the castle walls.”

“Wicked,” James replied. “The second-floor arcade is over on that side — I was worried we were going to have to sneak across the whole castle. But it seems like all we’ll have to do is go down Sirius’s way and then find the right staircase to get down two more floors.”

“Let’s get on with it then,” Remus said. “The less time we’re running about the castle the better.”

They slipped out the portrait hole quickly — and gently, despite the solid-sounding nature of the Fat Lady’s snores — and followed Sirius into the spiraling stairwell. The other boy had been right; the stairs went around and around and around, but when the torchlight led them out onto the next landing, James clearly recognized it as the fourth floor corridor they took to get to History of Magic.

“Either of you know which way to go next?” James asked.

“The mezzanine level of the library is that way—” Remus pointed down the hall to their right, “—but I don’t think there’s an exit to the second floor, just the first. And I’m pretty sure there aren’t any other stairwells between here and there.”

“Left it is, then,” James said. “We shouldn’t go too far along if we can help it, though. If I have my bearings right, we’re just about on top of the arcade.”

They crept down the hall slowly, every strange sound sending them scurrying further into the shadows. It had never occurred to James before how rarely he’d been on this particular floor of the castle. The first-years didn’t have any classes on that level, and it had never occurred to him to stop off for any reason on his way to or from the other floors. Now that he was thinking of it, there wasn’t a single one he could think of that had an exit on the fourth floor, other than the Grand Staircase they were avoiding.

But on they went, stopping only at three-way intersections to briefly bicker about which direction made sense to turn along. Remus had originally won out with his argument that there were more likely to be stairs at the center of the castle than the edges, but James was starting to regret siding with him. After the first turn, and the dead-end T-intersection, and second T-intersection — he wasn’t even sure which way was north, or if they were even on the east end of the castle.

Then, finally…

“Hang on a second!” Sirius whispered. They were about to pass by another hallway, with a slight curve, but Sirius had stopped and fixed his eyes down it. “I think that’s a stairwell up there, isn’t it?”

James walked back over to stand beside him. Sure enough, there was some sort of archway up ahead, and it looked as though there were steps going up, at least. “Nice work, Black,” James said, actually meaning it. “Come on, Remus, let’s check it out.”

Sirius’s suspicions were quickly validated as they got closer. It was a small stairwell, to be sure, but the marble steps clearly went up and down, a landing above just barely visible from their vantage point.

“Okay,” James said. “So hopefully this takes us all the way down to the second floor. From there we should be able to—”

Remus grabbed his arm, hard. Sirius’s too. Both of them were so startled they didn’t say anything, just turning to look back. Remus had taken his left hand off of Sirius and placed a finger gently to his lips.

Then James heard the other voices. Only murmurs, from this far off, and he couldn’t tell whether they were coming from upstairs or down.

Remus had started to shrink back down the hall, but James grabbed at his robes first. “Not just yet,” he hissed, quiet as he could. “We can sneak by, if they’re upstairs.”

“Are you mad?” Remus said, barely breathing the words.

Sirius didn’t need as much convincing. He was silently sliding ahead, without waiting for the others, and James turned to follow him after giving Remus one last murderous look. He could hear the other first-year shuffling miserably behind them.

James and Sirius both stooped low as they got closer, trying to get a better angle. From what James could see, the landing above was clear, so he stepped further out to see down to the lower landing—and nearly tripped over Sirius, who hadn’t moved with him.

Of course, when he pivoted back, prepared to shove the boy regardless of the consequences, James saw what had stopped Sirius cold.

Only a few yards away, down the stairs, were two male prefects. James only recognized the shorter, dark-haired boy because he was one of the Gryffindor prefects, a fifth-year named Tom Gallagher. But he knew the other one too, even though he was a Slytherin. Nicholas Bulstrode was the youngest son of Ragmar Bulstrode, who’d just been named the new Head of the Department of Magical Games and Sports. Nicholas was the Slytherin Quidditch team’s prize Chaser, and already being scouted by half a dozen professional teams, if the _Prophet_ was to be believed.

And he and Tom were snogging, right there in the corner of the landing.

James could sense Remus freezing behind him, stopped by the same alarming sight. Sirius practically had his jaw hanging open, a strange look on his face. It seemed James was the only one not completely paralyzed — but while he knew they should keep moving, escape, he couldn’t figure out how to do it, quite. Because these boys couldn’t know they’d seen them. No matter how queer they were, the two of them were still prefects, and they were just first-years out-of-bounds.

James had finally made up his mind to just slide past the archway and hope Remus and Sirius came with when Tom Gallagher opened his eyes for a second and looked right at them.

For an instant, James, Sirius and Remus’s minds must have synced up, because they ran without hesitation, all in the same direction — back down the hall, the way they came, and along the other hallway. He could hear the prefects’ harried footsteps behind them, clicks and clacks along the stone that sounded faster and more sure than the trio’s own.

James could barely breathe to think, much less say anything to the boys. The fear of being caught had united them in that instant but also divided them — if Remus tripped, there was no chance James would have enough thought in his mind to stop.

They went right, then left. Still, footsteps behind them, out of sight but slowing only for a moment at intersections. The prefects behind them had started shouting intermittently now, as if afraid someone might hear them but compelled to try anyway.

Remus was slightly ahead of him, and had started turning his head back and forth as they ran down the halls, searching for something. They took a sharp left, and then he whispered “Here!” and darted right into a door that had been left ajar. Sirius and James skidded to a stop, then quickly followed him in.

As the three of them hid behind the door, trying not to gasp for breath too loudly, James took stock of the situation. They were in a huge classroom with six tiers of desks going back and up. On their level, there might have been a podium at the center of the room still, but it was hard to tell — the room was filled with piles of junk: cracked cauldrons, damaged textbooks, scraps of metal and what appeared to be an open, empty safe, for some reason. And farther away than he’d like, James could see another exit on the other side.

The three of them all flinched as one as they heard the prefects’ feet come right up to the door and stop. But while James couldn’t stop imagining Tom or Nicholas forcing the door open, sending all three of them sprawling across the classroom…it never came.

“Shite.” One of the prefects had spit out the word like a bad taste in his mouth. “I think we lost them.”

“We _can’t_ have lost them, Nicholas. _They saw us_. We need to find them and…and…throw them in the dungeon or something!”

“Calm down.” There was silence from the other side of the door, except for what might have been gasping for air and might have been tears.

“They can’t have gone far,” Nicholas finally said. “And we know where they have to be going, okay? Do you know what house they’re all in?”

“They’re all first-year Gryffindors,” Tom said slowly. “It’s Sirius Black, the one that got sorted wrong, and James Potter, I think. And one of the other boys — Raymond? Remy? Ridley?”

“Okay, that’s good,” Nicholas said. “So we know they have to go back upstairs to Gryffindor Tower. That’s good.”

“You keep saying that, Nicholas, but it’s not good. Not at all!”

“I will go back up to Gryffindor Tower,” Nicholas said, talking over Tom. “If they know where they’re going, they’ll be heading for the auxiliary stair in the east wing that goes straight up to the Fat Lady. So I’ll take that and see if I can’t catch them on their way up. Otherwise I’ll stand guard there. We don’t have to worry about them taking the Grand Staircase — Ruby and Tybalt are canvasing there tonight, and they’re ruthless.

“You stay down here and keep looking around. They’re 11-year-olds, scared to death of us. We saw them turn down this corridor. For all we know, they found a room to hide in and are wetting themselves in terror as we speak.”

James’s face flushed with indignation, but a look from Remus kept him frozen in place.

“All right,” Tom was saying. “I’ll check around here. But you’d better not lose them if they get upstairs.”

“Believe me,” Nicholas replied. “If they make it up to the seventh floor, it will not be for long. And be careful. We can’t have any other prefects or professors finding _us_ where we aren’t supposed to be. We need to get these kids and shut them up by any means necessary.”

There was another quiet moment, and then the sound of Nicholas hurrying away. A moment later, James heard the rattle of a doorknob further away. Tom was checking the other side of the hallway first.

“Come on,” James whispered, pointing across the room at the second door. “We get through that door before that prefect checks this room, and we’re home free.”

“What about the one that’s going upstairs?” Remus asked.

“We’ll figure it out,” Sirius replied. “Potter is right. Let’s go.”

Easier said than done. At one point, most of the garbage in the storeroom had previously been stacked in an orderly fashion, but years or decades of inertia had pulled much of it to the ground. The steps up to the rows of seating were completely blocked off by a pile of old shields that would have been too noisy to move, so they were limited to the ground level. James and the others found themselves forced to climb over everything imaginable — at one point, even delicately inching between a mangled desk and a pile of books taller than any of them.

“Just so you know, I’m very unhappy that we made this trip,” Remus whispered, about three-quarters of the way out of the room.

“How was I supposed to know this would happen?” James whispered back.

“Oh, I’m not unhappy with you,” Remus said. “I’m unhappy with myself for letting you convince me to come out with you.”

A quiet clang cut off James’s retort, and they swiveled sharply to look back at Sirius, who’d accidentally kicked a piece of metal to the ground. All three froze, scarcely breathing. Waiting.

But nothing happened. After a few minutes all three burst out into muffled giggles.

“Slugs and Squibs,” Sirius cursed softly. “I thought we were done for.”

“Not yet, Sirius,” James said, turning back around. “But let’s hurry before—”

Between them and the door, there was a tiny half-step, and James put his foot right into it and pinwheeled forward before Remus or Sirius could catch him. He caught his fall — but with a tall filing cabinet, which he managed to pull all the way down with him. It wasn’t just loud enough for Tom to hear — it was probably loud enough to wake McGonagall in her offices three floors down.

“Run!” James shouted, all pretense abandoned. Remus and Sirius rushed past him as he struggled to his feet, the former tugging at the door futilely.

“It’s locked!” he shouted. “We’re stuck in here!”

“Merlin’s slippers,” Sirius said, shoving Remus out of the way and drawing his wand. “Neither of you must have brothers who try and lock you out of your own room. _Alohomora!_ ”

The lock shifted in the door and Sirius burst through it into another corridor just as Tom Gallagher did the same on the other end of the classroom. “Gotcha, you little dungheaps!” he shouted.

“Come on come on come on!” Remus was next through, and James right behind. As he grabbed the door to slam it shut behind them, he got a glimpse of Tom as he stormed in. The prefect’s face was pale with panic and exertion, but there was a strange look in his eye as he raised his wand and pointed it at James.

“ _Stupefy!_ ”

James ducked as he moved through the doorway, and a burst of crimson light arced over his head, busting the face off a stone gargoyle beyond as he slammed the door shut. “Please tell me you can lock this too, Sirius.”

He stepped closer to James and pointed his wand at the doorknob, moving it back and forth quickly. “ _Colloportus!_ ”

There was no noise this time, but Sirius seemed satisfied. “That’ll hold it. For about 30 seconds. If Gallagher doesn’t just break the door down.”

“We’d better get running then,” James said, getting all the way to his feet. “Any chance we’ve run into the west wing yet?”

“I think so,” Remus said. “At least based on where the moon is through those windows. Why?”

“Because I think I recognize the gargoyles Gallagher hasn’t pulverized yet,” James said, breaking into a run and shouting back over his shoulder. “And I might have a way to get us back upstairs!”

* * *

James’s mind was racing as he dragged Peter down to the third floor landing, Remus and Sirius right behind him. “We can’t keep running down,” he said to the group. “We need to start going up somehow.”

“I don’t see how we can,” Remus said. “As soon as he puts out that fire, Tom is going to be right behind us.”

“Fire?!” Peter was practically shaking. “What did you do?”

“Defended ourselves,” Sirius snapped. “That arsehole’s gone mental. Stunners, hexes — he’ll probably start slinging Unforgiveables next…”

“It’s not like he doesn’t have reason to,” Remus said. “You get caught in the same position as him? What would you do?”

“Well, for one thing, I’d _successfully_ start using Stunners and hexes. Gallagher’s certainly not going to be in the running for the Aurors any time soon.”

“But he is going to be down here soon,” James said. “So we need to go somewhere. We’re on the third floor. Over by the Charms corridor, I think. Any ideas?”

Sirius just looked back at him blankly. Remus looked overwhelmed by the possibilities. And Peter — Peter had the strangest expression on his face.

“I might have a place where we can…” He trailed off, seemed to think about something else, and then kept going. “I actually think I have a way back upstairs.”

“Seriously?” Sirius said.

“Lead,” James said, simply. “We’ll take your word for it.”

The four of them hurried through the halls, each trying to listen for Tom behind them without tripping over their own feet. To James’s dismay, every time they came across an intersection, Peter just kept running — this corridor must have run the whole length of the castle — and he kept looking over his shoulder expecting to see Tom Gallagher come storming around the corner.

After three such intersections, he finally did, Remus alerting the others with a shout. “We’ve got company!”

Tom was far enough back that James couldn’t see him clearly, but there was no doubt the prefect was still furious — he was running full-tilt down the hall, and catching up.

They came to a four-way intersection, and Peter slowed for just a second before shouting “Left!” and turning down the next corridor.

“This isn’t _actually_ the Charms corridor, right?” James said. “I do not want to run into Professor O’Brien tonight.”

“That’s the other way,” Peter said. “We’re almost there.”

At the next intersection, Peter slowed to a stop, looking down to the right and then up at a large painting on the wall, depicting a portly wizard with tufts of white hair on the side of his head and a fierce expression on his face — one that vanished as he put his book down and saw the four of them there. “Oh, hello again, Peter.”

“Headmaster,” Peter panted. “The Trophy Room. Is today a sixth floor day?”

James, Sirius and Remus all looked at each other. “We’re going to be in detention until Christmas,” Sirius said mournfully.

“Been and back,” the portrait said. “Long trip today, actually. If you’d come by an hour ago, you’d have finally been able to see that fresco.”

“Drat,” Peter said, shifting anxiously. “Is there any chance… How could I _make_ it move?”

“Well, now, that’s a very interesting question. The Trophy Room is pretty stuck in its ways, unfortunately. I think the only thing that’d get it to move off its usual schedule is if it felt like its contents were in danger for some reason.”

James was starting to catch on. “You mean like if there was a furious fifth-year slinging spells at the people inside it?”

“Yes, that might do it,” the portrait replied, seeming to notice James for the first time. “Peter, have you made friends? They look…fine.”

But Peter was already running off to the right. “Thanks, Headmaster!”

James looked after him. The hall was a shallow one, with tall moonlit windows and an archway at the end. Clearly the Trophy Room in question, from the plaques he could see past the rusted-over gate.

“He’s got to be kidding, right?” Sirius said. “We should probably go on without him.”

“We don’t have a choice,” Remus said. “I’m going in. You two?”

The sound of Tom’s footsteps made it an easy decision for James. He hurried forward alongside Remus, Sirius bringing up the rear muttering curses under his breath.

Peter was standing in the very center of the room, next to a tall bronze urn on a pedestal. “Come here,” he said. “I don’t know if the room will feel scared unless we’re far enough in.”

“I can’t believe this is happening,” Remus said. But they all followed Peter’s instructions anyway, standing in a loose circle in the middle of the room.

“Now what?” James asked.

“Well the last time this happened,” Peter said, “I was distracted and didn’t realize it had happened until I came out of the room. So I’m not really sure.”

“Oh,” James said.

“Worst case scenario, we can just go out the other exit and keep running,” Peter continued.

“Bad news,” Sirius said, looking around. “There isn’t one.”

“What?” Peter broke away from the group, frantically looking all around the room, and even behind trophy cases. “There was on the sixth floor. That’s so weird.”

“So you’re saying this is a dead end,” Remus said slowly. “Unless the room moves.”

Peter slumped against the far wall. “I guess, yeah.”

“I was wrong,” Sirius said. “We’re going to be in detention until Easter.”

James looked back down the hall just in time to see Tom Gallagher run into view, and nearly fall down upon seeing them. “Uh oh.”

“There you are,” Tom said, drawing his wand and pointing it down the hall at them. “Game over, firsties. _Stupefy!”_

As the bright flash of red light began to arc toward him, James did the only thing he could think of. He closed his eyes and waited to wake up.

Nothing happened.

When nothing continued to happen, James hesitantly opened his eyes. Tom was gone, as was the portrait beyond. The corridor on the other side of the archway was still short, but the windows were all gone, and the opposite wall instead had a set of double doors with suits of armor to the left and right.

“Bloody hell,” Sirius said. “This actually worked. I could kiss you, Pettigrew.”

“Please don’t.”

The four of them hurried back out of the Trophy Room — each afraid it might switch back, but none willing to admit it — and then collapsed in the short hall, two leaning up against either wall.

“Well,” James said finally. “That was not fun.”

“That, Potter, is the truest thing I’ve heard you say since we got to Hogwarts,” Sirius replied.

“Thank you, Peter,” Remus said, turning to his left to look at the smaller boy. “I think we all owe you one.”

Peter just sighed, and the four of them sat there in silence again for a few moments. Then James slowly pulled himself to his feet.

“All right,” he said. “We’re on the sixth floor, right? Is this the same part of the castle as where the Trophy Room was on the third floor?”

“I think so,” Peter said, without moving.

“Then I have a proposal. We’re probably only a few minutes away from the Grand Staircase, and we’ve only got one floor to go up. I say we risk it. The odds of the other prefects on patrol being on that specific corridor are slim, and we know that Tom’s snogging partner is watching the secret stairs, not the main entryway. So if we can make it up to the seventh floor—”

“We can make it into the common room before he realizes we’re even in the hall,” Remus said, stretching out a hand for James to pull him upright. “It’s a good plan. Assuming we stay luckier than we’ve been the rest of the night.”

“That wouldn’t be hard,” Sirius mumbled, getting to his feet at the same time as Peter.

Despite his confidence, James honestly hadn’t expected his plan to work, even as he led the other three boys down the hall toward the Grand Staircase. But then they made it all the way there without encountering Filch or a prefect. Quickly hurried up the single stairwell without being seen in the torchlight. And tiptoed all the way up to the Fat Lady’s portrait before having to say the password aloud and alert Nicholas, pacing angrily further down the hall and lost in his own thoughts.

“Sphinx,” James said, purposefully too loud, and as the others scampered in first he just grinned at Nicholas as the prefect spun back around, wand in hand.

Then they were inside, safe in bounds, collapsing with relief. They’d done it, despite all the odds. The four of them had successfully outsmarted a pair of prefects and lived to tell the tale.

* * *

But of course, they weren’t actually home free.

James had about 12 hours of gloating and snickering before Nicholas cornered him on the way back from lunch. It was a bit of a surprise — if anything, James had expected both prefects to grab them all at once, so the boys had agreed to keep apart, staying either enmeshed in big groups or completely by themselves. As he was snatched by the back of his shirt collar and dragged with a shout into the spare Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom on the second floor, James realized the latter might not have been as good an idea as he thought.

“Hands off, Bulstrode,” James shouted, struggling free as the door slammed shut behind them. “You’re not my type.”

“Cute.” The prefect’s voice dripped malice. “We need to talk.”

A thousand thoughts flashed through James’s brain, most of them bad. There were only two reasons Nicholas would have dragged him off alone. Either he and Tom were going to pick them off one by one, or—

He took a gamble. “You want to make a deal?”

Nicholas was mid-word, but stopped with his mouth slightly ajar. “Not how I might have phrased it,” he said, finally. “But yes. I suppose if we’re being direct, that’s what we want.”

“Well, I can tell you right now that we all have no problem going to Professor McGonagall about this,” James lied. “I think she might have something to say about one of her prefects trying to hex a student, even an out-of-bounds one.”

“You’d be right about that,” Nicholas said with a smirk, sitting atop the wooden desk at the front of the room. “Tom is already on probation, and I would be too if I hadn’t lied about being in the prefect’s bathroom and Slughorn wasn’t more forgiving. Between the five of you, you wrecked practically half of the fourth floor. He wasn’t going to get away with that.”

Bollocks. That was most of James’s leverage. And if McGonagall knew about the damage… “So, what, you’re here to tell me that McGonagall’s waiting in the Gryffindor common room, prepared to serve us all with detentions?”

“Thanks to me, no,” Nicholas said. “Despite Tom being _extremely_ furious with you, I convinced him not to share the names of the boys he was chasing down the hall.”

That was…odd, to say the least. “Why?”

“Well, for one thing, it explained why he decided spells like a Knee-Reversing Jinx were appropriate force for chastising members of his own house. And for another…well, Tom is a lot of things, but smart under pressure is not one of them.”

“And I suppose you are.” James had no idea where this conversation was going.

“Yes, actually. Because as irritated as I am with the actions of all of you, I’m still seeing the bigger picture. And the bigger picture is that I think it’s better for all parties involved if we… ‘make a deal,’ as you put it.

“So. I guess the first question to ask before we go any further is: Have you and your friends bragged about your little adventure to anyone else?”

“They’re not really my friends,” James said, stalling. “But no, I don’t think any of us have really said anything. We’ve been spending most of today keeping our eyes out for you and your…um…”

“Stop right there.”

And just like that, James got it. “Oh. So you don’t want us telling anyone we saw you two snogging.”

Nicholas didn’t say anything at first, just glaring at James. Then his eyes flickered past him, at an object behind James.

Before he could react, something hit James in the head, half-knocking him down to the ground. As the stars cleared from his vision, he saw Nicholas holding a heavy textbook in his right hand, smirking down at him. “I didn’t hear you, Potter. I think you might have been saying that you didn’t see or hear anything last night. Since you were in bed, fast asleep.”

“Sure,” James said feebly, gingerly running his fingers along the back of his head. He could already feel the goose egg forming. “We could all say that. But it’ll probably take a little more than physical violence to convince us.”

He was pushing it — really pushing it — but Nicholas had seemed to be expecting it. “Alright,” he said, “I come prepared to make concessions. I don’t know how many more times you and your little band of first-years plan on running about the castle. But if you can all keep your mouths shut, Tom and I can too. Either of us come across you out of bounds, and we’ll turn a blind eye, as best we can. That’s the best deal you’re going to get from any prefect, any time.”

“Agreed,” James replied, before he could think himself out of it. “I’ll make sure the others are on board right away.”

“See that you do,” Nicholas said, his glare getting even colder. “If either Tom or I hear even a whisper, you’ll all start losing house points so fast the other Gryffindors will be running you out of the castle with pitchforks.”

He turned and was gone without another word, leaving James alone in the classroom.

James stood there a moment, waiting. Then, when he was sure Nicholas had gone, he collapsed into one of the desks, running a hand absently through his hair. He’d just squared off with a _prefect_ — two of them technically — and if not won, at least bargained his way to a draw.

Slowly, as the shock subsided, his thoughts came around to the actual prize — a free hall pass from two of the 24 prefects roaming the halls of Hogwarts. No limits.

“What the hell,” he breathed aloud, “am I going to do with that?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that's the story of the boys' first, luckiest break! This is one of my favorite chapters of the fic -- hope you enjoyed it as well!
> 
> Better keep that bargain in mind...some of the boys will make very good use of it in the chapters yet to come.


	6. Ask Me Why

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lily Evans has a question for Sirius Black: What's a Mudblood?
> 
> This is not going to go well.

She asked him in the middle of Potions one morning, while they were waiting for their Boil Cure to properly thicken. “Sirius,” Lily said, “tell me what a Mudblood is.”

Sirius practically jumped out of his skin, and his sudden movement against the table caused his copper cauldron to rock precariously back and forth over the flame. “Merlin’s beard, Evans,” he said, looking around the room to see if any of the other students had noticed.

“So it is something bad.” A devious grin had spread across the girl’s face; combined with her fiery red hair, she looked positively terrifying.

“Keep your voice down,” he said, pretending to inspect the potion intently. “You can’t just say that.”

“Well it’s swearing,” Lily said, as if _he_ were the daft one. “Of course I ‘can’t just say that.’ And it must be particularly insulting if your reaction is any indication.”

Sirius could not believe he was somehow in the middle of a conversation about Mudbloods with an actual Muggleborn.

“Now look,” she was saying, mercifully keeping things to a whisper now. “I know you know what it means. Because I remember Rosier calling you that on our first day of class and you almost hexing him into the cupboard. So all I want is for you to tell me.”

“Okay, well I’m not going to,” Sirius said, busying himself with some of the ingredients on the table. “So drop it.”

“Nope.” She folded her arms over her chest and glared at him. “I’m very persuasive and you are very persuadable.”

“I am not!”

“Last week during flying lessons you switched brooms with Daisy Mandel because she told you she didn’t like how many knots were on her handle.”

“That’s not persuadable. That’s just me being nice.”

“Then when she didn’t like that one you went and took Peter’s for her.”

Sirius was mercifully spared from having to come up with a plausible retort by a WHOOMF from behind them. They both turned to look as Helena and Mina began wailing at the sight of each other’s faces, covered in blueish liquid and angry crimson carbuncles.

“Oh girls,” Professor Slughorn said from the front of the classroom. “I assume when I said ‘don’t add any other ingredients until your potion is the consistency of paste,’ you thought that was just a suggestion, hmm?”

That only sent the girls into further hysterics. With a sigh, Slughorn began to rub his temples with one hand. “Miss Evans.”

Lily spun back around, startled. “What is it, Professor?”

“Would you terribly mind escorting Misses Quickley and Dawlish to the infirmary? They’re in such a state I’m not sure they’d make it out of the dungeons.”

“But, um, Professor—” Lily gave Sirius a sudden look. “What about my potion? I really feel like I should stay and keep working on it with Sirius.”

“Don’t be ridiculous, dear.” Slughorn said with a smile. “Last week you brewed a Rehydration Balm so lovely you convinced me to keep it on the curriculum, even if you and Severus were the only ones to get it right on the first try. If anything, it’d be nice to see if Sirius has some skill of his own without you beside him to give him hints.”

Lily beamed at the flattery, before seeming to remember her original objective. “This conversation isn’t over, Sirius,” she said quietly on her way out. “And don’t forget. Take the cauldron off the fire before you do _anything_ else. I would hate to have to further question you with boils that ugly on your face.”

* * *

Lily wasn’t lying. She was gone for the rest of class, but grabbed him on the way upstairs for lunch and pulled him into a corner to talk his ear off for 15 minutes. The only reason he escaped was because Professor Slughorn came out and dragged her away to talk about the day’s assignment — which Sirius had naturally botched in her absence, though luckily without the potion actually blowing up in his face.

He was able to keep clear of her that afternoon, and she didn’t push it during or after dinner. But then the next day, on the way down to History of Magic, she caught him again.

“You know, History of Magic is our latest morning class,” she said, sneaking out of the shadows in the seventh floor corridor halfway to the Grand Staircase. “And yet every week, you oversleep, then have to run all the way through the castle and show up 10 minutes late.”

Sirius nearly fell down the steps in surprise. “Bubbling Spattergroit!” he said, “Have you just been standing there all morning?”

“Yes,” she replied. Her foot started tapping on the floor. “Are you going to tell me now?”

“No!” Sirius practically shouted, hurrying down the steps. It vaguely occurred to him that this would make for an unusual sight — him running downstairs, pursued by a red-haired girl shorter and scrawnier than him.

“It can’t be that bad,” she shouted after him. “Stop treating me like a child.”

“You are a child. We are both children! I can’t believe this is happening.”

Sirius ignored her protestations all the way to Professor Binns’s classroom and then took a seat right at the front. Lily wasn’t _that_ committed, apparently, but Sirius paid for it. Binns seemed elated to have such an attentive student — well, as elated as a semi-emotionless, senile ghost could be — and spent practically the whole class lecturing directly to him about the arithmancer Bridget Wedlock… or something like that.

That was how it went for the next two days. Lily chased him out of History of Magic, Charms and Defense Against the Dark Arts before Sirius wised up and started talking to someone — _anyone_ — before Lily could pull him aside. He did get an earful on Wednesday night when Nabin blew him off on the way back from flying lessons, though. But before he finally broke and started screaming the answer at her, Mary MacDonald came up to ask Lily a question about their Transfiguration homework and he was able to slip away back to the common room.

Finally on Thursday morning, after two days of existing almost exclusively on Peter Pettigrew’s stash of poorly hidden snacks, he broke. Lily had managed to convince Daisy to switch seats with her, so they were partnered all through Charms, practicing their Softening Charms on bricks from the dungeon.

“ _Spongify!_ ” Sirius twirled his wrist twice over the block, a black mist settling onto it. When it faded, he poked the brick gingerly. “I think it’s getting thicker.”

“Well that makes sense, given the spellcaster.” Lily was refusing to participate, except when O’Brien came closer to their table. “You know, it’s not like—” she had the presence of mind to whisper “— _Mudblood_ is the only curse word that’s ever existed. Hell, my father seems to know a bunch I’ve never heard a wizard say, even grown-up ones.”

“Why are you bothering me about this, anyway? Your good friend Snivellus is pals with Mulciber and the others by now, I imagine. He certainly must know what the word means.”

“ _Severus_ is not friends with those boys. He’s actually having a terrible time of it over at Slytherin, if you must know. He’s not like them at all.”

“If you say so.” But Sirius knew better. The Sorting Hat didn’t just put people into Slytherin on a whim. It had told him so. You had to want to be there — you had to want what that house could give you. If Snape was telling Lily something different, he was lying to someone. Either her or himself.

“Besides, I already did ask him, and he said he wouldn’t tell me either.”

 _That_ he believed. “Oh, of course, I see how it is,” Sirius said. “Your sneaky snake best friend won’t tell you so you go straight from one house reject to another.”

“No,” Lily said, looking a bit offended but also like she wasn’t sure why. “I also asked Mary. She just didn’t know.”

“Miss Evans and Mr. Black. How is your brick coming along?”

Mellan O’Brien was suddenly there behind them. Despite the fact that he clearly weighed around 25 stone, the American-born professor was light on his feet, always whirling up to Sirius or other students without warning. Sirius was beginning to suspect he’d bewitched his shoes or something.

“I think we’re getting it, Professor.” Lily picked her wand up off the table to demonstrate, twisting her wrist around and around. “ _Spongify!_ ”

The mist that came out of her wand was a subtle lavender, and Sirius could see right away from the look on O’Brien’s face that she’d succeeded even before he poked at it with his unnaturally long wand. “That’s swell, Evans. Your turn, Black.”

Nervously, Sirius pointed his wand at the target again and gave the incantation, spinning his wrist quickly. Perhaps once too many; a pale, clammy pink mist enveloped the brick, and before their eyes it seemed to collapse in on itself.

“Rats,” O’Brien said, clapping him on the back. “Well, that’s why we have a bunch of spares, eh old boy? Evans, pop up to the front of the class and grab another one for yourselves. I’ll give your partner a few pointers.”

As he mechanically mimicked Professor O’Brien’s gestures, Sirius realized that Lily Evans was better than him in many ways — and her dogged pursuit of the truth was one of them.

“Fine,” he said when she came back.

“Fine what?”

“Fine, I’ll tell you.”

Her face lit up with mischievous delight. It made Sirius’s stomach churn just to look at her.

* * *

Sirius idly rolled a thistle back and forth between his fingers as he waited for Lily on the courtyard bench, occasionally breathing into his scarf to warm it up. It wasn’t quite cold enough yet that sitting around out of doors was out of the question — but it was cold enough that no one would come by to say hello, or linger nearby and hear their conversation.

He’d rehearsed what he was going to say a dozen times since they’d agreed to meet before dinner. Lily, of course wanted to meet right after Transfiguration, but Sirius had nixed that idea. “Too many people around. It’ll be easier if we wait a little bit.” Which of course had only made her more intrigued, of course.

He was regretting it now, of course. Because instead of getting it over with he’d spent all day sulking and brooding and wishing—

“Hey!”

Lily was coming up to him suddenly, face barely poking out from her red and gold scarf and a billowy white knitted hat.

“Glad I didn’t ask you about this a week later,” she said. “I’m not used to chills this early down in Cokeworth.”

“Me either.” Sirius could feel all the courage deflating out of him like he was a balloon. So much for being a true Gryffindor or whatever.

“Alright. We’re ‘all alone,’” Lily said with a dramatic eye roll. “Out with it.”

“First off,” said Sirius, stalling, “you need to tell me why you want to know. Really. None of this ‘I heard Rosier say it to you’ stuff.”

Lily studied him a moment, then nodded, biting her lip. “You’re right. It wasn’t just about you that day in Potions. And I didn’t actually just hear another student saying it. I actually didn’t hear it at all.

“It was Mary. Mary McDonald. She was walking back from the library the other night and bumped into Seth Mulciber. Like literally bumped into him — her books went everywhere, Mulciber fell over, the whole thing. So she’s apologizing and trying to help him up and he just ignores her hand and lets that big goon of his help him up.”

“Avery,” Sirius spat.

“Right. So that’s pretty normal, and Mary just goes to pick up her books. Except then from behind her she hears Mulciber go ‘Watch where you’re walking next time, Mudblood.’”

The word sent shockwaves through Sirius’s body again.

“Mary’s not an idiot. She knew it was some sort of insult. But she didn’t know what it meant, and neither did I when she asked me later that night. And then it was like I already told you. I tried talking to Severus, but he wouldn’t give me an answer. So you were my next best option. And here we are, freezing on a bench.”

“Okay.” This was it. No more evasion. “Lily, I…it’s about Muggleborns.”

She didn’t respond right away, so Sirius just kept talking, words falling out of his mouth. “You have to know by now all about the pureblood families. Like Mulciber’s, or mine. Our families can all trace our magical ancestry back generations.

“But wizards and witches don’t all come from those lines, obviously. Some witches and wizards marry Muggles, and their kids are almost always magically gifted. And some witches and wizards are like you and Mary. Muggleborns. Two Muggle parents but you’re born with magic anyway. Brand-new lines.

“The thing of it is…I…some people in those pureblood families…not me of course, but…they think they’re better than other wizards because they kept their line pure. Kept any Muggle blood out of it. They’re lying of course — my family is the same way, just hiding all the half-blood matches — but they believe it. And they believe that Muggleborns are worth less than other wizards. That their blood is common. And the worst word for that is…Mudblood.”

Sirius finally managed to come to a stop. Lily still hadn’t reacted properly. She was just sort of staring at Sirius, as if having trouble understanding. “It’s…it’s about Muggleborns?”

“Yes,” Sirius said, hating to have to say it again.

Lily turned her head away from him, and Sirius suddenly realized she was crying. He stretched out a hand, almost putting it on her shoulder, and then pulled back. He had no idea what to do about a crying anyone, but a crying Lily Evans might bite his hand off.

“I thought—” Her words were rough, choked. “I don’t know what I thought. Something to do with a girls’ period, I suppose.”

Well, Sirius certainly did not have anything to say about that, other than a strangled cough that Lily luckily didn’t notice.

“And that made sense. I guess. Boys are all like that. They were like that back home too. Always teasing and taunting me and the other girls. But this…”

She turned around again without warning, making Sirius flinch. “We’re all bloody magic, Sirius. We’re all supposed to be the same. That was what Severus always said. We’re special because we’re wizards and witches and we have a gift that other people just don’t have — that’s why Tuney hates me. And now…now you’re telling me that there’s all these people, purebloods, and they hate people like me just because our parents are Muggles.”

“Not all purebloods,” he said haltingly. “I would never say that.”

“But you’ve never thought it?” she said. “Your family’s all been in Slytherin; I remember. You’re telling me the rest of your family doesn’t think that, even if you’re so much smarter than them?”

Sirius couldn’t bring himself to answer, and Lily turned away again, sniffling.

“You know,” he finally said, “I understand how you feel. I know what it’s like to have people hate you—”

“No you don’t, Sirius.” She didn’t even bother to look up at him, but Sirius could feel the Evans glare nonetheless. “You’re a _pureblood._ Just like Mulciber. So don’t you try and tell me you know how I feel. At least your family hates you — a little! — because you dare to be different from them. Because you put the Sorting Hat on your head and it saw you should be in Gryffindor and you agreed, even just a little.

“Those Slytherins who said that to Mary…who will probably say that to me one day too…they hate me for something I can’t change. Something I don’t want to change. Because I love my parents and my sister. I love that they’re a part of who I am.

“So I don’t want to hear all about how ‘you know what it’s like.’ Because you’ve _never_ experienced anything like this. And if you ever do, you’ll understand why you telling me that your parents being angry at you for getting into Gryffindor makes this Mudblood witch want to hex you nine ways to Sunday.”

“Alright,” Sirius said quickly. “I’m sorry.”

Her words hurt. But she wasn’t wrong.

An uncomfortable silence settled in, but Sirius didn’t dare break it by getting up to go. So he just sat there, sitting next to Lily, waiting for her to make the next move.

When she did, it surprised him.

“Thank you,” she said, turning slightly to put her hand over his, “for telling me. I understand why you didn’t want to, now.”

“Um…you’re welcome, I guess.”

“I just don’t know what to do now. I thought it was just going to be something gross. Not something…I’m going to have to tell Mary. And then we’re just going to, what, keep seeing Mulciber every day? Wait for him to call one of us a Mudblood again?”

“I mean, you could always, like, get back at him?”

“How?” Lily’s question sounded less confused and more interrogative, and her green eyes were suddenly fixed on his.

“Well…I mean, I know Mulciber. We were close to friends, once upon a time.”

“So what?” Lily said. “I don’t want to be his friend. I want him to feel as lousy as I do.”

“That’s just the thing,” Sirius replied with a grin. “I might have the answer to that. I know the thing Mulciber’s most afraid of in the world.”

* * *

They had decided to do it on Friday afternoon, when the Slytherins were on their way back in from Herbology for lunch. If Sirius and Lily both remembered right, their Defense Against the Dark Arts class should let out with just enough time for them to hurry downstairs and get into position for the Slytherins to walk by.

Lily had sat next to him in the back row today, so they could better dash out ahead of their classmates. Helena and Mina seemed equal parts confused by her appearance and delighted to have a physical buffer in between them and him.

“You’re sure we can make it?” she whispered, as Brocken started to wrap up her lecture on Red Caps. “It’s two flights of stairs and halfway out to the greenhouses, and we only have about a half-hour before Sprout lets them out.”

“I can’t imagine Mulciber and his crew rushing anywhere,” Sirius said. “They all sort of do this shuffle. Like they’re practicing their lurking for when they grow up to sell illegal potions ingredients in Knockturn Alley.”

Lily giggled. “That sounds like the only sort of job I could see Mulciber not screwing up.”

“Who said anything about him not screwing up?”

“Alright!” Brocken shouted. “So. Now you know all there is to know about the Red Cap. No essay this weekend—” she kept talking over the cheers “—but make sure you go over Trimble’s notes on how to incapacitate these little brutes. We’ll be practicing on an extremely zealous house-elf during class next week.”

She checked her wristwatch briefly, then said, “Well, looks like we’ve wrapped things up a bit early.”

Sirius’s blood ran cold. The last two times their class had ended early, Brocken had thrown them a pop quiz and ended up holding them long.

But the third time was the charm. “It’s a nice day out, and you’ve been doing exemplary the last few weeks. Why don’t you all get out of here and enjoy the rest of your afternoon?”

Sirius and Lily bolted for the door with a velocity that turned heads, but they were hardly paying attention. The two went headlong down the Grand Staircase, just barely missing the wiggly fifth-to-last step, and bolted out into the brisk air, jogging down the pathway to the greenhouses, parallel to Professor Sprout’s large vegetable patch.

Lily saw the perfect hiding spot first, and tugged Sirius’s robes. “Come on, over here.”

He followed her into the patch, ducking behind a tall stretch of bushes. “This is great, Lily. They’ll never see us.”

“And you’re sure you remember the spell, right?”

“Of course,” he said with a smirk. “You must remember, you are speaking to the heir of the Great and Noble House of Black. I’ve seen this spell used a dozen or so times.”

She gave him a fifth of an Evans glare. “Okay,” he said. “And I nipped down to the library last night to make sure I had the enunciation right.”

“That’s what I thought,” she said. Then she tapped him lightly on the shoulder. “All right, I think that’s them. Get ready.”

Sirius whipped out his wand, rubbing his thumb anxiously back and forth along the handle’s top corner. He was going to have to time this just so.

Four Slytherin girls Sirius didn’t really know were leading the way back to the castle, eagerly chattering about something he couldn’t make out. Behind them were a handful of other students including Snape, who was walking with his hands tucked deep in the pockets of his robe.

And then — the furthest back — Sirius recognized Mulciber, laughing at something Rosier was saying. Avery was there too, along with Cole Shafiq and Rabanus Rowle. Perfect.

“—so right, Rosier. Haan looks just like a Spiky Bush with that stupid hair of hers. It’s like she’s never heard of Sleekeazy’s. Or showering.”

The other boys laughed all around him. Sirius could feel Lily tensing up behind him and gently reached back to grab her arm. He grabbed her hand instead, but she grabbed back tighter before he could let go.

“Hope there’s something decent for lunch today,” Mulciber continued. “House-elves need to be kicked around a bit; whatever they were serving last night seemed to have gone off a bit between here and the kitchen.”

Now. “ _Serpensortia,_ ” he whispered, pointing his wand slightly ahead of the Slytherin boys.

A small flash issued from his wand, mercifully unnoticed, and a large black adder was suddenly there, careening toward the pathway. It landed a few feet away, but before Sirius could worry, it raised its imposing head over the grass and began to slither toward the boys.

“Hey Mulciber,” Shafiq interjected. “I’ve been meaning to ask you—”

Lily and Sirius never learned what he was going to ask Mulciber. As the sandy-haired boy turned to look at Shafiq, he caught sight of the snake and screamed — no, _shrieked,_ glass-breakingly shrieked — and practically collapsed in his attempt to get behind Avery.

“Merlin’s beard, Mulciber, what the hell?” Rosier said, the only one to look at him instead of whatever had scared him. Shafiq, Avery and Rowle just burst out laughing instead.

“It’s a—it’s—”

Rosier looked and then let out a titter of his own. “Seth Mulciber, that’s a bloody snake. Are you a Slytherin who’s afraid of actual snakes?” That got all of them laughing again, including Lily — though she managed to keep it quiet enough that Sirius could barely hear her.

Avery stepped forward, pressing his thickly booted foot down on the neck of the snake, which feebly tried to gnaw through his ankle. “That’s really sad, Seth.” Sirius was impressed. That was the most words he had ever heard Avery say in a row.

“You said it, Avery,” Shafiq said, scowling down at Mulciber.

Rosier turned his attention to the snake. “ _Diffindo!_ ” His Severing Charm cut the snake in half effortlessly, though the edges seemed to smoke strangely.

“There’s — there’s something wrong with that snake,” Mulciber mumbled, still staying far away from it. “I think someone is trying to hex me…with the snake…or something.”

“Oh give it a rest,” Rosier spat. “I think you’ve already embarrassed yourself enough, haven’t you?”

“Come on,” Sirius whispered. “If Mulciber wins the argument, we don’t want them poking around here.”

Lily nodded, and the two of them crept backward quietly, listening for the Slytherins to stop arguing. They hadn’t by the time they both felt it safe to run, giggling and dodging rows of vegetables and scarcely looking back.

“Thank you,” Lily suddenly said, while they had both caught their breath lying under a pair of trees on the west side of the castle.

“What?” Sirius had been thinking about the expression on Mulciber’s face when he saw the snake coming straight for him.

“Thank you for doing this for me,” Lily said, lifting herself up on one elbow to look at him better. “You could have just…I don’t know, said ‘Mudbloods are Muggleborns’ and walked off. And instead you helped me get back at Mulciber a little. And you made me laugh instead of cry. My mum always says that’s the sign of a good friend; someone who makes you stop crying by making you laugh.”

Sirius rolled over to face her, a million thoughts running through his head. “We’re…we’re not friends, Lily. You don’t want to be my friend.”

Lily gave him this look he’d never seen before. Like the Evans glare, except — smiling? “Sirius Black, you are terribly daft. You don’t conjure a snake for someone you’re not gonna be friends with. And you don’t just ask your Potions partner to tell you what a really foul curse word means if you don’t want to be friends with them.”

“Oh.” Sirius hadn’t thought about this whole business like that. It was sort of overwhelming. “Well, uh…now what?”

Lily just shook her head and got to her feet, sticking a hand down to help Sirius up. “Now, you idiot,” she said. “we go back inside and get the lunch we’ve earned.”

Of all the ways for two Gryffindors to become friends, Sirius reflected on their way back in — to think it all had to do with snakes: both human and conjured.


	7. Please Please Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When James overhears a story about how the Slytherin Quidditch Captain hexed the Gryffindor Seeker into the hospital wing, he decides he's going to take his own shot at Slytherin House.
> 
> To get it, he needs the help of one Lily Evans...

“Are you serious?!”

“You _must_ be joking.”

The sudden series of shouts from across the common room pulled James’s attention firmly away from the game of wizard’s chess he was decidedly losing to Nabin. Most of their house had gone out to the courtyard after lunch, enjoying a burst of unseasonably warm weather, so the two of them had decided to take advantage of their absence to actually grab a board. The older students had gotten (somewhat rightfully) possessive of the remaining chess sets after the incident with Black and Pettigrew a few weeks back, so they had to squeeze in their chances where they could.

All the yelling was coming from the only other group of students in the common room, a handful of Gryffindors huddled around a square table. James recognized all but two of them from the Gryffindor Quidditch team; he’d been following the team meticulously since he arrived at Hogwarts. The younger girl with dark curly hair, furthest from him and Nabin, was their Keeper, Martha Church. The people James didn’t know were on either side of her, an older boy and girl, but the girl had her arm snaked through that of Gideon Prewett — currently the one shouting at his team captain, Joseph Hayes.

“Bloody hell, Hayes,” the red-haired boy was saying. “You’re telling us Isaac’s been confunded for weeks?”

Joseph’s face flushed red with anger beneath the patchy beard he was trying to grow. Before he could speak, the girl interjected, saying something James couldn’t hear into Gideon’s ear.

“No, Dom, I’m not going to stop yelling, I’m bloody well angry!”

The girl — Dom? — pulled her hand back like she’d been burned, her long, ruby red nails instinctively curling into a claw. “Better not bark at me like that again, Deo. You remember what happened to the last boy who made that mistake.”

“We get it, Dom, we are all forever haunted by the image of Allen Kirkpatrick with an actual horse’s ass.” The boy James didn’t know kept talking, but James was more focused on trying to place him. Maybe he was the reserve, Cygnus Hornby? He hadn’t played the scrimmage James had gone to see last week, but he had heard some older girls in his house gushing about how they were jealous of his hair, and James could see it. He had the sort of hair James’s father was always trying to make him try out — disheveled, true, but artfully so, a curly brown mess of a quiff that reminded him of a crashing wave. James bet there was a litre of Sleekeazy’s in it.

“James, it’s your move.” Nabin was tapping one of James’s shattered pawns idly on the side of the board. James knew by now that meant the Muggleborn had figured out exactly how to put him in checkmate, as long as James didn’t suss it out first. If experience was any indication, he wasn’t going to suss it out first.

“Quiet, Nabin,” James said in a whisper. “The Quidditch team is fighting about something and I want to hear what it is.”

“You still haven’t explained any of the rules to that game properly,” Nabin said, crossing his arms over his thin braces. “Why are there Chasers again? It seems like everyone should just be looking for the Snitch together.”

“Shh!” Gideon, Dom and maybe-Hornby had been shouting back and forth at each other, but Joseph slammed his hands on the table to shut them up, to Martha’s visible relief.

“We’re all angry, Gideon, but some of us know which people deserve to get shouted at. That goes for you too, Hornby.” So that was him! James would have to tell his father to send the boy a thank-you note for keeping the company in business. “Just because I can’t afford to pull either of you out of our first game doesn’t mean I can’t make you really, _really_ miserable during practices between now and then.”

“I’m sorry,” Martha said. “But can we catch this Muggleborn up? What _is_ a Confundus Charm, other than exceptionally bad-sounding?”

“It addles your brains,” Cygnus said. “Normally, all at once. Really tough magic; practically everyone in Brocken’s class had a headache the entire month of September just from trying to cast it.”

“But Pomfrey was saying to Hornby and me that whoever did cast it on Langley has been giving him just a little pulse every few days for weeks,” Joseph said. “That’s why he’s seemed fine, but been getting worse every practice.”

“Shoot, that’s sort of brilliant,” Nabin gasped. James kicked him under the table.

“You’re going to get us hexed,” James said, thinking unpleasantly of the last time he’d eavesdropped on an older student. He didn’t have the head start needed to avoid a Knee-Reversing Jinx this time around. “Hayes is notoriously paranoid. He wouldn’t let a scout from the Wigtown Wanderers into practice two weeks ago because he used to play on the Slytherin team and was worried he might leak information to them.”

“I mean…I guess I’d be pissed if a scouser showed up wanting to sit in on a Man U scrimmage, so that makes sense to me.”

James blinked four times. “I don’t know what any of those things are.”

“Now Pomfrey and McGonagall say—” Joseph was talking loudly enough to hear again. “—that there’s no way for us to know who’s been confunding Langley.”

“But that’s fucking bollocks,” Gideon interjected. “Because it’s obviously Percival Cain.”

It was James’s turn to forget himself. “That’s bloody crazy!”

He realized he’d shouted too late, as the entire table turned to stare at them, Cygnus Hornby giving them a particularly toothy and malicious grin.

“It’s not ‘bloody crazy,’ you eavesdropping wanker,” he sneered. “It’s exactly the sort of thing you’d expect a Slytherin bastard to come up with.”

“I just mean…” James quickly wracked his brain, trying to find something cool to say. “Like it’s just crazy that he could do that without getting caught, or Isaac realizing that he was doing it.” That wasn’t it. That was lame.

“Well, Isaac has never been the _most_ self-aware person,” Martha said, with a giggle that she throttled when Cygnus turned back around to stare at her instead of James. He was glad for the relief. “Well…he’s not!”

“I’m going to hit you with a Confundus Charm and see if you notice me doing it,” Cygnus said. “It’s not hard to miss.”

“Children’s commentary aside—” James and Nabin sank down into their chairs as Joseph spoke, but he seemed to be speaking to Martha and Cygnus. “—Cain is the only option. Not only are the rest of Slytherin’s team dumb as bricks, Cain’s actually in our Defense Against the Dark Arts class. And he’s been hiding how good at the Confundus Charm he is. From the face of it, he’s bloody terrible at aim and potency, but somehow Cygnus and I always get a perfect shot.”

“So what’s your plan?” Dom said, lowering her voice slightly. “Can Isaac play next Saturday?

“I’m about to go back to the hospital wing to double-check,” Joseph said. “Hitchens and Flume are still there, since they brought Langley in. But I overheard Pomfrey talking through the Floo to a specialist at St. Mungo’s on my way out, and I think we’re being optimistic if we think he’s going to be cleared to get on a broomstick anytime soon. She doesn’t think he’ll be out of the _hospital wing_ by next week.”

A silence came over the common room, and James felt a lump in his stomach. All the Slytherins he’d encountered at Hogwarts had been lousy people. But this was a new level. Isaac Langley was one of the best Seekers Gryffindor had scored in years. The only reason they lost the House Cup last year was because Slytherin had crushed the Hufflepuff Keeper’s face in with a Bludger and spent the last two hours of their own final game racking up goal after goal. Isaac was the player the Wanderers scout had been there trying to see, and the one that the scouts from the Kestrels, Cannons and Arrows had succeeded in seeing.

And from the sound of it, he was looking at — at best — losing a year of his school career.

The team began quietly discussing their plans for the upcoming game, though James noticed Gideon still looked sour, and was speaking in monosyllables.

“There’s only three games in the Quidditch season, right?” Nabin asked.

“Right,” James said. “And their reserve Cygnus Hornby — he’s the one over there, with the hair — he’s not nearly good enough to take Langley’s place as Seeker. And our Beaters, Kris Teak and Eridani Flume, are pretty much only good at those positions. I bet Hayes is going to ask Martha or Gideon. She’s got the build for it, which is good, but I don’t think she’s ever played the position. Gideon has, but not for years, if I’m remembering right. So then Hornby would either be another Chaser or the Keeper.”

“Bugger,” Nabin said. “I don’t know how much Quidditch is like footie, but I wouldn’t want to throw in a backup forward in place of Stepney, no matter how bad things were getting.”

“Okay, we have got to trade statbooks after the hols or something,” James said, “You’re making me feel like the Muggleborn in this conversation.”

“We are going to actually do something about Cain, right?” Gideon was shouting again, and half-standing up from the table. Both Dom and Joseph looked like they were going to skin him alive.

“Believe me,” Joseph hissed, grabbing Gideon by the arm and pulling him back down. “There is nothing I would love more. But McGonagall pulled me aside before I could even get out of the wing and told me in no uncertain terms that we have to kick the shite out of the Slytherin team on the pitch, not in the halls. Every professor in the castle is going to have their eyes on the eight of us — well, nine of us. You’ll be flattered, Dom; McGonagall told me you shouldn’t get any ideas in that brain of yours.”

“I _am_ flattered,” she said, eyes glimmering like a cat’s in the firelight. “She probably doesn’t want to have to worry about me transfiguring Cain into something even she can’t manage to unknot.”

“The whole staff is going to be watching us like owls,” Joseph continued, “so if we step out of line we’re going to have bigger problems than Langley not remembering what numbers are. So we’re going to play this game straight. We lose…well, that’s when we start talking about backup plans.”

“That’s a lousy plan,” Gideon replied. “I say we agree to melt Cain into cheese win or lose.”

“I’m in for that plan,” Cygnus said with a grin.

“Fine,” Joseph said, with a grimace. “But let’s get down on the pitch while there’s still daylight to practice. I told Teak to meet us there, hit a few Bludgers around.”

James had finally made his move on the chessboard, one step closer to checkmate, by the time Cygnus and Gideon had stopped trashing Cain and gotten up to follow Joseph downstairs.

“You know,” Gideon said to Cygnus, too quiet for Joseph to hear but just audible to the first-years, “the staff is only going to be watching _us_. It’s not like we couldn’t enlist some other people to screw with the Slytherins.”

“Plausible deniability? I like that. How do we pick who to talk to, though? We’d have to trust that they wouldn’t blab back to McGonagall.”

Gideon’s eyes flashed over to Nabin and James for a moment. “I don’t think we have to talk to anyone,” he replied. “I think we just talk about this little bit of injustice all around the castle. There’s no shortage of listening ears.”

The germ of an idea began to sprout in James’s mind. Could he…

“Check,” Nabin said, moving his queen halfway across the board as the older boys slipped through the portrait hole. “You’ve only got one move left, I think.”

“No,” James said, not thinking of the game anymore. “I think I’ve got a brand-new one to try out.”

* * *

“I’m telling you, he was looking right at us when he said it,” James said. “Back me up, Nabin.”

He, Nabin, Jack, and Remus were all huddled in close at the very end of the hall table, at James’s request. He didn’t want to make it too obvious what they were talking about.

“He looked at us for a second,” Nabin said. James scowled at him. “That’s it and you know it!”

“I’m sorry,” Remus said, “I’m still not sure I really understand. You think Gideon Prewett asked you to do what?”

“Screw with the Slytherins!” James said, keeping his voice lower than the others. Didn’t they understand the importance of looking normal? “The Gryffindor team can’t retaliate against Cain and the Slytherins without getting caught, but the professors can’t watch all of us. Someone needs to teach these jerks a lesson.”

“I’ll second that,” Jack said. “Didn’t either of you see how lousy Isaac was flying at the scrimmage last week? Can’t believe they didn’t send him straight to Pomfrey after the match.”

“Okay, maybe, but…” Remus looked at Nabin as if asking for help. “James, you can’t seriously be suggesting _we_ are the ones who should be responsible for that. I mean, we can’t go against the _Slytherin Quidditch team_. Their broomsticks are bigger than we are.”

Nabin shook his head up and down vigorously in agreement. Jack just scoffed.

“You two are being a bunch of babies. We’re not going to walk straight up to them and hex them to their faces. We’re not, right James?”

“Merlin no,” he said. “They’re Slytherins. They probably know spells so dark they’ll stain their fingers black as they cast them on us.”

“What are you doing to the Slytherins?”

James turned to see Mary MacDonald slide onto the bench next to him, her glass-grey eyes wide with something like excitement. Lily Evans, as always, was on her other side. He tried to catch her eye, but she busied herself with filling her plate from the food on the table as Mary kept talking.

“Is this about what Greengrass did to Imogen last week?”

“What?” James said. “No. What happened to her?”

Mary and Nabin both started trying to explain at once, shouting over each other about thistles and beetles and a parcel from home, and James didn’t absorb a word of it.

“It’s not about that,” Jack said, cutting in before James could ask just Nabin to repeat himself. “The captain of the Slytherin Quidditch team used some spell on our Seeker Isaac—”

“The Confundus Charm,” James interjected.

“—Right. And now he’s not going to be able to play next week. Maybe ever again.”

Mary gasped, and Lily seemed to finally be interested in their conversation. “That’s horrible,” Lily said. “What is Professor Slughorn doing?”

James and the boys all laughed as one. “Nothing,” Jack said. “Obviously. Isn’t Percival Cain one of his little pets? The…wazzitcalled…Slug Club?”

Lily’s brows knitted together. “How would I know?”

“You’re practically his favorite student in double Potions, Lily,” Nabin said. “ _You’re_ one of his little pets.”

“Regardless,” James said, before Lily could respond, “we were just saying that we want to do something. Since Slughorn and McGonagall and the rest of the staff won’t. We just can’t figure out what we want to do.”

“Hey, figuring out what you and Jack want to do is _not_ the actual sticking point here,” Remus said.

“I’m so out of this,” Nabin said. “I just want that on the record.”

“I still say we follow one of them back to the common room,” Jack said, ignoring the other boys, “then we just trash it.”

“Oh yeah, good plan,” Remus said. “Except what happens if there’s more students already in there? Or if that one student kicks your arses because you have literally two months of magical education under your belts?”

“We can just pop ‘em with a Levitation Charm and leave them hanging. You’re good at that one, right James?”

Remus put his head in his hands. “Please tell me you’re joking. Levitation Charms don’t work on people.”

“Why don’t you go during the Halloween feast?” Mary said. “Everyone’ll be here, thinking about pumpkin this and pumpkin that. As long as you don’t get caught by a prefect on your way down there, you should be good.”

James and Jack looked at each other, then back at Mary. “That’s…actually a brilliant idea,” James said.

“The only problem is figuring out where to go,” Jack said. “I guess we could follow someone after dinner… Or maybe just explore this weekend?”

“No, that’s dumb,” Mary said. She seemed almost used to correcting them now. “Just make Lily tell you.”

The missing puzzle piece fell into place. Of course Lily would know. That greasy Slytherin from the train was practically her best friend still. He wouldn’t dare come up to Gryffindor Tower, but she’d go down into the dungeons without a second thought.

“Of course!” Jack said. “How ‘bout it, Lily? Wanna tell us how to get to your boyfriend’s room?”

Lily flushed bright red. “He’s not my boyfriend!”

“Alright, wanna tell us how to get to your _girlfriend’s_ room?”

The boys and Mary all giggled, though James stopped once he saw the way Lily’s face fell.

“Come on, Lil,” Mary said, placing her hand on Lily’s arm. “It’s not like you’re a big fan of Slytherin House either. Just your buddy Snipe.”

“It’s Snape!”

“Look,” James said, leaning past Mary a bit to look right at Lily. “We’re not gonna do anything terrible. We’re just going to try to balance the scales a little bit. Nothing we’re gonna do is on the same scale as scrambling someone’s brains, okay?”

Lily thought for a moment, as the others silently waited. Then, finally, she nodded. “All right. I’ll give you directions. Just don’t make me regret it.”

* * *

The Great Hall was like nothing James had ever seen. The enchanted ceiling was crackling with orange and violet lightning. No longer were there candles floating overhead, but merely will o’wisps, big balls of fire the size of a quaffle twirling end over end. The ghosts were scurrying about with more vigor than he had imagined the dead could possess, stringing cobwebs of ectoplasm from column to column as a legion of bats swept through the air and occasionally their bodies. And each of the four house tables had been garnished by cornucopias of fruits, crepe streamers and a dozen living jack o’lanterns apiece, grinning wildly and chatting up the students.

James was paying attention to none of it, whispering to Jack between large bites of pheasant.

“Remember,” he said. “We can’t leave right when the musicians start up. It’ll be suspicious.”

“Yeah, I remember,” Jack said, playing with a pumpkin pasty with his fork. “I was the one who suggested it.”

James ignored that. “So we’ll give this group or whatever a song. Or half a song, if it’s long.”

“It’ll be long. Dumbledore booked the Blue Mountain Dragonflies. Great choral group but terribly long-winded.”

Jack was greedily stuffing the pockets of his robes full of candies from the big golden goblet now, so James gave him a subtle smack in the gut.

“Ow!”

“Quit being so obvious.”

“Quit hitting me; that’s the obvious thing!”

“You two are a complete disaster,” said Nabin, crossing his arms over his chest. He and the other first-year boys had surrounded James and Jack, and spent the bulk of the feast convincing them to stay upstairs. But Peter was terribly unconvincing, what with that shaky voice of his, and Sirius’s attempt had been a laughably half-hearted “think of your reputation,” which had just made Nabin and Remus more grouchy.

“You’re going to slide over and fill in our spaces, right?” Jack asked, glaring back and forth at Sirius and Peter on their side of the table. Pettigrew nodded his head like a gibbering ghoul — up-down-up-down-up — and Sirius didn’t say anything, which Jack took for agreement. “No one’s going to catch us. Almost all the prefects are here at the feast tonight. As long as the four prefects who drew the short wands or Filch and his mangy cats don’t catch us right after we get down the stairs, we’ll be around the corner before anyone even has a chance to notice we’re gone.”

“Thirty minutes or so to trash the common room and we’re out,” James said. “We can either come back here or go all the way upstairs and wait it out. No one’s patrolling past the first floor.”

“Just remember not to leave anything behind,” Remus said. He was so nervous for them he’d eaten his way through three pork pies already, and was working on a fourth.

“Geez, Remus, I wasn’t born yesterday,” Jack said.

James suddenly caught a glimpse of Lily further down the table. Her girlfriends were all laughing about something, but she was turned partway in her seat, eyes locked vacantly on them. There was a strange, sad twist to her mouth.

They locked eyes for an instant, then the air was filled with the ringing of a delicate set of bells.

Dumbledore was standing up at the head table, wearing a set of black robes with intricate silver detailing at the cuffs and neck that sparkled in the candlelight. “Well, I think we’ve all been stuffing our faces for a bit too long, haven’t we? Before dessert, I believe Professor Brocken has helped us acquire some delightful new entertainment. Let’s all welcome the Blue Mountain Dragonflies for what will hopefully be either an exhilarating performance or something so intolerable the story of it entertains your party guests for the next 20 years.”

To James’s surprise, the Dragonflies rose out of the floor in front of Dumbledore, their bodies shimmering the same blueish-white as the other ghosts. Because they were ghosts, he realized.

“Did you know these people weren’t…alive?” he asked Jack, as the castle burst into applause.

“Well of course,” Jack replied. “They all died on a tour of England in the late ‘40s. All a bit bitter about not being able to properly visit their old homes in Australia too, I hear.”

They let the seven old ghosts get partway through something called “Bricka Brack Brackium,” which seemed to consist mostly of harsh consonants shouted in rotation, then James and Jack looked at each other as one and nodded, slipping out of their seats and back toward the toilets.

As soon as they were through the arch and out of sight, they ducked down the hall and to the right, tracing their way around the edge of the hall toward the entrance to the dungeons, wands out.

James had never felt his heart beat so fast. Even the night a few weeks back, running through the castle, he’d been in too much of a hurry to sense more than panic and adrenaline. Now he felt like his whole body was throbbing in time with his veins and arteries.

They took the marble stairs rapid-fire, paradoxically too scared of discovery to worry about silence. They were at the mouth of a long, long corridor, with a narrow offshoot hall to their right. James had never been down here this late before, and the torchlight was much spookier when there wasn’t even a hint of light outside through the slitted high windows.

“All right, what did Evans say?” Jack said. “Take the first left, then the third, then the first again?”

“Other way round,” James replied softly. “And down the stairs.” He peered down the dark corridor, half-hearing something. “But one of the lefts was a trick or something. The one that leads to Slughorn’s dungeon doesn’t count, or something, because it’s too short? You’d think there would have to be an easier way.”

“What are you two doing down here?”

James’s heartbeat cut off with a stutter as he and Jack both whipped around, then restarted faster than ever. There was a prefect coming toward them from along the right corridor, badge gleaming despite the half-light. But as he came all the way onto the landing, James realized he knew exactly which prefect this was.

“Tom Gallagher. Nice bumping into you.” James spoke with a confidence he didn’t truly feel, but either his tone or the sight of his own face staggered Gallagher, whose face flushed a ruddy crimson. Beside him, James felt Jack freeze up, completely taken back.

“Potter.” Tom had been going out of his way to avoid James ever since Nicholas had pulled him aside for their little talk. He hadn’t even seen the prefect in the common room, or at least not for more than an instant. But every time they’d passed in the hall he’d given James the exact look he was giving him now: contempt with a dash of thinly veiled fear.

“We, uh…” James quashed down the instinct to tell Tom exactly what they were doing, just to see his face. He’d made his deal only with Nicholas, after all, and hadn’t actually proven that either prefect was willing to stick to the terms yet. “Weren’t fans of the entertainment. Thought we’d take a walk.”

Tom scowled, but hesitated before speaking. “Better get on with it then. Slytherins’ll be headed back into the dungeon before you know it.”

“Appreciate the reminder,” James said, meaning it. He tugged at Jack’s sleeve. “Come on, Jack, let’s go.”

Jack let himself be dragged, staring back after Tom Gallagher for half of the walk down the corridor. “J-James,” he finally croaked out, “what just happened back there?”

“Can’t talk about it,” he said. “But we got a free pass. Let’s take advantage of it, shall we?”

Jack didn’t seem to truly accept that rationale, but he followed James down the hall anyway. They took the third left, all the way at the end of the hall, the first left a little bit further along, the winding passage that snaked its way through a part of the dungeons they’d never had to walk down before, and the final turn in front of the watchful eye of a bust of Salazar Slytherin.

“How is this possibly the fastest way to get there?” Jack asked, looking behind them as they began descending the curved stairwell.

“Lily didn’t say it was the fastest. Just that it was the way Snape told her to get there.”

“Probably making her walk around in circles just to entertain himself. They’re all rotten, you know. My dad’s uncles were mostly in Slytherin, decades back, and they all ended up Grindewald supporters. All about that Greater Good stuff.” Jack spat at the ground, a gesture more embarrassing-looking than he seemed to think it was. “I hope the Gryffindor team ties this Percival Cain into knots after the game’s over next weekend.”

“One thing at a time,” James said, coming to a stop in front of a patch of brickwork, studying it.

“It’ll look just like the rest of the walls,” he remembered Lily saying, “but there’s not any tapestries or art in front of it. That’s the one Severus always says goodbye to me in front of.”

“I think we’re here.” He ran his hands along the wall, trying to feel if there was anything different about it to confirm Lily’s suspicions. “Let’s try the password and see.”

“Alright.” Jack stepped up to the wall, staring it down brazenly. “Troll teeth!”

The wall seemed to shiver, bricks vibrating, and smiles broke out on both boys’ faces. But then nothing happened. No secret passageway. Not even a door appearing out of nowhere.

“Um, troll teeth?” Jack tried again. The wall didn’t even twitch this time. “That was what Lily told us, right?”

“Maybe the wall doesn’t like your voice,” James said, stepping in front of him and trying a few different times. “Troll teeth! Troll…teeth. Troll teeth.”

None of his attempts did anything. And when James stepped forward — thinking perhaps the wall was just walk-through now — it was clearly solid to the touch.

“I don’t understand,” Jack said from behind him. “Do you think the password could have changed already?”

“Ours hasn’t switched yet,” James said. “But Lily said the last time she heard Snape use the password was Friday. Maybe theirs changes over the weekend instead of on Monday?”

“Ughhh,” Jack groaned. “So we came all the way down here for nothing.”

“Not if we can guess it,” James said, thinking hard. “Copper cauldron! Cockroach! Slime!”

“Poison! Serpenthead!”

“Dragon heartstring!”

“Troll _feet_!”

“Unicorn blood! Horace Slughorn!”

“Troll _tongue_!”

“Merlin’s beard, Jack, it’s not going to be something _else_ about trolls.”

“Well, I hardly think the password is just going to be Professor Slughorn’s _name_ , but you don’t hear me making fun of you.”

“I’m not making fun, I just think—”

“What are the two of you doing down here?”

Snape was suddenly just _there_ , on the other side of the corridor, staring at him and Jack.

“Where the hell did you come from?”

Snape looked confused. “Well, I took the shortcut through the Hieroglyphic Hall, because from the Great Hall it’s easier to…wait, no. _You’re_ the ones in the wrong place!”

James quickly looked over at Jack, trying to get a read on his friend. Jack seemed unnerved by Snape’s appearance, but not scared, per se. Snape, on the other hand, was trying and failing to sneer down at them despite being outnumbered and smaller than both him and Jack.

“I don’t know how you figured out how to get down here,” Snape started saying, “but I have to say watching you two just shout nonsense words at the wall is probably the stupidest thing I’ve seen since I got to Hogwarts.”

James snorted in surprise. “That’s a real insult,” he said mockingly to Jack, “coming from someone who’s in a house full of people who aren’t even smart enough to be Hufflepuffs.”

Jack laughed, somewhat in spite of himself. Which meant he would follow James’s lead.

James reached into his robe and pulled out his wand, pointing it at the surprised Slytherin. “Better get out of here, Snape. You’re already outnumbered, don’t make us outwit you too.”

Snape took a step back, pulling his own wand out at the same time as Jack. “You’re already in trouble the minute a prefect comes down here,” he said, slowly. “Don’t want to make things worse on yourself by trying to hex me.”

“Trying?” James nudged Jack with a chuckle. “He thinks we’ll just _try_ to hex him.”

“Adorable,” Jack replied.

“Last chance to run, Snapey.”

For an instant, James thought the small boy just might. Then something changed, and James had only a second’s notice to throw himself against the far wall as Snape shouted “ _Locomotor Wibbly!”_

There was a flash of orange light, and a yell from Jack. When James turned, he saw the boy was just barely upright, legs wobbling back and forth. “You bloody wanker,” Jack muttered faintly.

Snape seemed almost shocked that his jinx had worked, mouth agape.

“ _F-flipendi!”_ Jack stuttered, as he finally fell down. Snape stepped back to dodge, but he scarcely had to; whatever spell Jack had been trying to use sputtered out of his wand onto the floor, a wispy blue smudge.

James struck before Snape could see, his wand arcing in front of him. “ _Foppas_!”

The Trip Jinx sent the other boy sprawling too, legs kicked backward so he landed right on his wand arm. Snape cried out in pain, but half-lifted himself up with his other arm so he could slash his wand in James’s direction. “ _Diffindo!_ ”

James ducked as Snape’s Severing Charm took the bottom off a tapestry behind him, scraping against the stone. This was getting too serious, and too loud. He wished he could remember the jinx that let you freeze someone in place, but he hadn’t expected to be in a duel this early in his Hogwarts career.

“ _Diffindo!_ ”

James ran out of the way of another Severing Charm, trying to keep Snape’s focus off Jack, who was still struggling to stand. Snape was back on his feet now, wand poised.

The image of Black’s chess set flashed into James’s mind. He’d overheard him and Pettigrew debating which Sticking Charm had been used to get the thing on the ceiling. And if he remembered right, there was one specifically designed for dueling. Stuck your opponents’ feet on the ground. Now if he could just remember which incantation it was…

Snape raised his arm to slash again, and James struck first, shouting the first word that came into his head. “ _Epoximise!_ ”

Instantly the spell felt wrong. Instead of the instant whiplash he always felt casting a charm or a jinx, James felt the steady pull of a transfiguration come over him. He could sense the threads of Snape’s robes growing, shifting— almost tacky, now.

All thoughts of spellcasting forgotten, Snape grabbed at his clothes, trying to pull them away from his body. But they just stretched like tar, and he screamed in pain as he tugged on the sticky fabric. “Blimey, Potter, what is this? What did you do to me?”

He was trying to rip off his robes with both hands now. His wand was stuck haphazardly to the side of his legs; James suspected the boy hadn’t even realized that he’d dropped it yet.

“All right, all right, I think that’s quite enough now.”

James spun around, wand at the ready, before realizing the person speaking was Professor Slughorn, coming down the hall with Caretaker Filch at his left shoulder. “Professor—”

“Wand down, Potter. My, you boys have certainly made a mess, haven’t you?”

* * *

“Let me see if I understand all this correctly.”

Over the course of their explanation, Professor McGonagall’s expression had evolved from a mere furrowed brow to ice-white, pursed lips and flaring nostrils, and she had even taken off her glasses to rub at her temples after James tried to argue that they thought the whole point of being in Gryffindor was to “make sure the Slytherins always get what’s coming to them.” He did not think the rest of this conversation was going to go very well.

“You overheard the Gryffindor Quidditch team talking about what happened to Mr. Langley. You heard the Gryffindor Quidditch team explicitly say that I had told them not to retaliate in any way. You decided that meant they had said so for your benefit. You then discovered the location of the Slytherin dungeons and attempted to break in by guessing the right password. When you were discovered, instead of fleeing, you instigated a duel with another first-year.”

“Hey!” James shouted. “He started it!”

“AND THEN,” McGonagall continued, “you finished the duel by fusing his robes into his skin, sending him to the hospital wing, where Madam Pomfrey is undoubtedly still trying to undo the transfiguration. Do I have all that correct?”

Jack and James each mumbled a yes quietly, looking down at their trainers.

“Well,” she said, “I do have a bit of a silver lining for you, Potter. It is exceptionally difficult to epoximise organic matter. It’s nice to see my suspicions about your gifts for transfiguration confirmed, although less so given the exact circumstances.”

“Um, thanks,” James said with a slight smile. Maybe this wasn’t going to be so bad.

“25 points from Gryffindor for assaulting another student.”

The smile slipped. Maybe not.

“And for both of you, detentions. Two, I think. Your first one will be this weekend.”

“Not on Saturday, right?” Jack looked like he was going to be sick.

“Precisely on Saturday,” McGonagall said, her eyes flashing with righteous fury. “You will be missing the match that you were so concerned about to clean out the auxiliary classrooms in the dungeon with Mr. Filch. You will also be missing the Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw match at the end of the month, just to ensure you have both learned your lesson. Any questions?”

James opened his mouth, prepared to protest, and then realized abruptly he was too afraid to. Next to him, Jack was just sulking, arms crossed and foot bouncing.

“Good,” McGonagall said, standing abruptly to lean over her desk at them. “Now, get back to Gryffindor Tower so I can check on Poppy’s progress with poor Severus Snape.”

James dragged himself to his feet alongside Jack, and the two shuffled out onto the first floor, headed silently toward the Grand Staircase.

“Thanks a lot,” Jack said without warning, on the second-floor landing.

“Excuse me?” James stopped and grabbed his arm, pulling Jack down from the step above. “What’s that supposed to mean?

“You just got me banned from all the Quidditch matches until next term, you git!” Jack shrugged off James’s arm forcefully, and for a second it looked like he might try to start a fist fight with him.

“You’re joking,” James said. “You must be joking. You _agreed_ to come with!”

“I agreed to come with when we had a good plan and a password. Except then we got caught by a prefect instantly and I nearly _died_ but then you had bribed him or something? Which would be cool if you had actually told me! And then when we used the password it was wrong and it summoned Professor Slughorn immediately!”

“Well, I hardly see how I was supposed to know that.”

“Me either! That’s why I should never have agreed to do this. Detention with Brocken was already bad enough; two with Filch in the middle of Quidditch games _with you_ is even worse!”

“Arsehole!”

“Wanker!”

Finally fed up, James shoved Jack, sending the taller boy sprawling across the steps. Jack grunted and sprang back to his feet, grabbing James’s shoulders and dragging him toward one of the marble columns in the corner.

But James managed to get his leg wrapped around one of Jack’s before then, and the two of them tumbled to the ground with a thud. Abstractly, James knew he should be trying to get to his wand — but honestly, he wasn’t even sure if he’d be able to draw it without Jack snapping it.

“Hey!”

The two boys both broke away instinctively; James expected to see McGonagall again, ready to give them a half dozen more detentions. But it was just Lily, looking down at them angrily. She had the unmistakable look of someone who’d been crying and was trying to hide it.

“James. We need to talk.”

Jack took the hint and scrambled up the steps, holding his side. James gingerly rolled over to hands and knees. Somewhere in falling down and scrapping with Jack, he’d picked up a bruise somewhere around his kidneys.

“Lily, I’m exhausted,” he said. “Go away.”

“No.”

With a sigh, he got all the way to his feet. Before he had time to do anything else, Lily had grabbed his hand and dragged him down the second-floor entryway into a small window seat.

“Look,” James began, “if this is about the password, it’s not your fault. How were you supposed to know when the Slytherins change theirs?”

Lily looked at him like he was a puddle of grease. “It’s not about the password, James. How could you do that to poor Severus? I just got back from the hospital wing. He can’t even get out of bed now, since his robes are sticking to the mattress.”

James snorted with laughter, unwisely. Lily’s slap was a terribly obvious response, but he didn’t even try to stop her.

“Alright,” he said, rubbing his cheek. “I suppose I deserved that.”

“You were supposed to just go down there and mess up their common room. That’s what you promised.”

“Hey, I would have loved to do that. But the password didn’t work, and then all of a sudden Snape was there. What was I supposed to do?”

“Run,” she replied. “Not get in a duel with someone who was just trying to get back to his common room.”

James was getting really sick of people assuming that he was the one who had attacked first. But his ears were still ringing from Lily’s first slap and he wasn’t looking forward to a second. “I’m sorry. It didn’t feel like we had a lot of options. And I didn’t know that spell would have that reaction on him.”

“This can’t happen again,” she said, tears filling her eyes. “Promise me, James. Promise me that you’ll leave Snape alone. Please. He didn’t ask to be in Slytherin and he certainly didn’t ask to be hated by everyone in this school.”

James didn’t care about any of that, of course. But he hated the sight of Lily crying. Hated being the one who’d made her cry. And Snape wasn’t really worth it, was he?

“All right,” he said. “As long as Snape stays out of my way, I’ll stay out of his. No revenge pranking. No duels. I won’t even mess with a pack of Slytherins if he’s around. Okay?”

Lily just nodded, head bobbing up and down as she sniffled. For an instant, James thought about reaching out to give her a hug, but she pulled away from him and stood up.

“Well, that’s settled then?” Her arms were tucked tightly around her torso. “I’m going back to the hospital wing. McGonagall might be there by now. Hopefully she can undo your charm.”

“Transfiguration.”

“Whatever.”

Lily was still lingering, and James felt compelled to speak. “You know, you’re a good friend. To Snape. He’s lucky to have you.”

“Thanks,” she said, scuffing at the floor with her foot. “Hope he still feels that way after I tell him I was the one who steered you down there in the first place.”

“You’re going to tell him that?” James was honestly surprised. He had left Lily out of the story altogether on purpose, and mercifully Jack had followed suit. But he hadn’t considered the possibility that Lily herself might tell Snape she was involved.

“Of course,” she replied. “You said it — I’m his friend. I owe him the truth. Even when it hurts.”

In that moment, as Lily walked back toward the hospital wing, James realized he would have done a lot worse to Snape in order to get a friendship like that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's our first -- and last, for a while -- James and Snape conflict for a while, everyone. Just like in our first chapter, I'm imagining a slightly altered attitude toward Snape as integral to the small canonical shifts planned. So you can count on James keeping his promise for the foreseeable future.
> 
> We've reached the halfway point now... time to start bringing these vignettes all together!


	8. Love Me Do

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Despite all his fears, Remus Lupin has gone three months at Hogwarts without breaking out of the Shrieking Shack and murdering all his friends.
> 
> On the other hand, he barely has any friends. And he has to keep this up for the rest of his life. So that's great.

Remus returned to himself shivering in the cold November air, with the splinters of a chair cradled in his arm. There was a scent of bacon in the air, and his robe was draped lightly over his body, which meant Madame Pomfrey must be somewhere in the shack.

For an instant, a residual impulse — **_hunt!_** — flickered through his brain, but he shook it aside. There was always a little wolf left in him, the first few minutes after waking up.

He tossed the splinters away, and slipped his arms through the robe as he sat up, cinching it tightly at his waist. After breakfast, he would find the clothes he’d tucked away; the ragged ones he’d changed into before moonrise were probably scattered through the apartment by now.

As he shuffled toward the bacon smell, Remus took mental stock of his injuries. Old habit by now.

He was sore everywhere, of course. There was the usual sting of scratches along his arms and chest. Something different was happening around his left side, though. That was a blazing pain, sharp and savage if he shifted his body too much while walking. Maybe this time he could keep Pomfrey from looking at it until he was done eating.

She had conjured a new table and chairs in the kitchen when he came in, to replace the ones he’d demolished his first night here. That first time, she had pressured him to let her reassemble it from the scraps he’d left behind. Then, the next month, he’d torn it into even smaller pieces, as if the little bit of Remus in the back of his werewolf brain was taking out his frustrations on it. She hadn’t offered to repair the table that morning.

“Hello, Remus,” Pomfrey said. Her cap was sitting on the table, revealing hair pulled back into a tight bun, but she was wearing her uniform already, a red and white set of robes, as she cooked over the stove. They made him think of the wartime nurses he’d seen pictures of in the library back in Aberdeen, the year his parents had tried to let him attend Muggle primary school. That hadn’t gone well.

Remus sat down without a word. It was nice to have Pomfrey always there when he woke up, able to feed him breakfast and look at him without pretending she wasn’t terrified. But it still always rubbed him the wrong way. He tried to believe it was just residual werewolf, and not just him being an ungrateful arse.

“How was it last night, dear?” Madame Pomfrey sent over the small plate she had already finished before returning her attention to the remaining bacon and eggs. Remus did appreciate that she didn’t make him wait for food. His parents had never seemed to understand that he was coming down from his transformation for the better part of a day afterward. “You came in with a bit of a limp.”

“It’s fine,” Remus growled, tucking into the bacon.

Pomfrey turned all the way around and put her hands on her hips. “Remus. We talked about this.”

Remus stopped eating and just looked sadly at his plate. “I’ve got a cut above my hip. A deep one, I think. My robe keeps sticking to it funny.”

“It’s probably all matted blood,” she said, starting toward him. “Pull back your robe — gently — and I’ll take a look.”

“No!” He skidded his chair back a little, to his own surprise too. “I’m— I’m fine. After I eat. I’m always so hungry after I… change. Please?”

“Of course,” Pomfrey said, taking a step back. “I’m sure it’ll keep.”

As she turned back to the stove — giving him a furtive look over her shoulder when she thought he wasn’t paying attention — Remus gingerly traced the edge of the scratch with his finger. It was wide, but had already begun to scab over. He must have done it early in the night, tearing and clawing at himself, or it wouldn’t have clotted so well. If it had happened an hour ago, he might have shifted back in the interim and bled out.

“I’m the luckiest werewolf in town,” he muttered, ripping half a piece of bacon away with his teeth.

It was too wide, he was realizing. The scratches and some of the ache, Pomfrey could fix with a wave of her wand or one of the many potions she brought with her to the shack. This she was going to have to take some time stitching back together, and it would leave a scar.

Scar number 14.

* * *

The last two transformations, Remus had spent half the day in the hospital wing, hiding out and recovering. But Wednesday was their lightest day — nothing but Herbology, History of Magic and Astrology in the evening, since he hadn’t continued with Flying lessons — so he didn’t think it was prudent to be absent the whole day. Binns wouldn’t notice, but his living classmates might.

“Hey, where were you this morning?” James asked as he slipped into the mass of students returning from the greenhouses. “Pettigrew and I had to re-pot all of our dittany because he put too much water in earlier this week. I knew we should have done that ourselves and let him write up the report on our valerian root.”

“Sorry, I…overslept.” No, that didn’t work. “In the library.”

James gave him a look of disgust. “Merlin’s beard, Remus, what are you so worried about? Didn’t you skip dinner too?”

“Well, uh…” Remus wracked his brain, thinking through the week to come. “It’s Astronomy. So it’s got to be at night. I feel like every class Sargas says we should be orienting on a new star I’ve never heard of so I was trying to learn my star chart out on one of the balconies. Very cold.”

That didn’t seem to satisfy James. “I thought you said you were in the library.”

Heavens above. “Right…That’s because… I…. went back to the library! To return a book. Then I sat down in one of those couches and it was all over.”

This, finally, James could believe. “Oh, I’ve been there,” he said with a laugh. “You know I failed our first Potions exam because I went down there to study the night before and woke up at dawn in a sweaty panic.”

“I thought it was because you were just a dumb dopey idiot.” Jack Lewis was pushing past them suddenly, shoving James with his shoulder as he caught up to Nabin.

“So I see that’s still happening,” Remus said as they watched Jack laugh over-loud at something Nabin was saying. He was immeasurably grateful for the change in subject.

“I already told him I was sorry,” James seethed, “and it’s not like he’s the only one who got the detentions. I didn’t drag him down into the dungeons by force.”

“Maybe he’ll feel better after you serve one together,” Remus replied. “Think of it like a bonding exercise.”

James just snorted. “Not bloody likely. Filch corralled me on the way back from dinner yesterday to tell me that the classroom we’ll be starting with hasn’t been cleaned since 1944. He said we shouldn’t wear anything we won’t want to burn.”

Binns’s class was always a race to the back, so since James and Remus had dawdled slightly they ended up in the second row between Peter and Imogen. It scarcely mattered, of course — Binns probably wouldn’t have noticed if they were all sitting on the floor, as long as they were doing it in a straight line.

“I’m exhausted,” Remus said, stifling a yawn. His headache was back too.

James looked oddly at him again. “You slept all the way through Herbology.”

Remus panicked, running through a list of explanations in his head — and then remembered suddenly he’d already given one to James. “Right but I was up late. Starwatching and stuff.”

James nodded knowingly. “Well, you may as well get cozy. Not like Binns’ll notice you unless you snore louder than a giant.”

“That’s Sirius who does all the snoring.” Remus was starting to feel a little fuzzy, though. He shouldn’t have had so much bacon back at the shack.

“Hey, since you were studying your star chart last night, do you remember where Mercury is supposed to be today? I can never find that tiny little thing with my telescope so I always check before—”

Too late. Remus was already out, imitating Sirius’s snores in miniature.

* * *

“Quills down!”

Remus looked mournfully down at the blank line labeled “Kelpies” and begrudgingly set down his quill. He’d blasted through the rest of Professor Brocken’s impromptu quiz on defending against Dark creatures of Britain, but whatever you did to keep a Kelpie from dragging you down to the bottom of a lake had gone completely out of his mind.

His parchment suddenly jumped off the table, stacking with the others on Brocken’s desk at the back of the classroom. Remus looked around at the other students in the room and was moderately appeased by the fact that everyone else looked much more miserable than him.

“So,” Brocken said, clapping her hands together. “This quiz completes the Ministry-mandated portion of your curriculum dedicated to dangerous Dark creatures of Great Britain…all of which are less dangerous and more predictable than your fellow wizards. But I digress. From here on, we will be exclusively focusing on practical magic and technical exercises.”

To Remus’ surprise, both Nabin and Imogen’s hands popped up further down the row, and from Brocken’s expression, there were more than two. “Well, this is a surprise. Yes—Mina.”

“What about dragons?!”

“Dragons are not Dark creatures, Ms. Dawlish. Nabin?”

“And vampires! I heard vampires are real.”

“Vampires are beings, not beasts, Mr. Mirza. And extremely non-native to the British Isles. Imogen?”

“What about…what about thestrals?”

Brocken gave her a strange, sad look. “No, dear. We don’t need to talk about that in this year. Anyone else have any creatures they want to be tested on?”

“What about werewolves?”

Remus felt his entire body break out in a cold sweat. He turned to look at Jack slowly, fake-casually, trying to look normal. Like he wasn’t some freak worth reading about in a textbook.

“Werewolves are also not beasts,” he heard Brocken saying from a thousand miles away, “nor are they inherently evil.”

“Um, they kill people,” Helena said scornfully from the back. “Once a month, they transform into a monster and try to kill people. What isn’t evil about that?”

“As you might remember if you were maintaining more than an 60 percent average in this class, Ms. Quickley, evil requires conscious intent. And for a creature or wizard to be inherently classified as Dark, those actions must be intentionally repeated.” Brocken was not looking at him, but to Remus’s eye that was more deliberate and obvious than he suspected she wanted it to be. “Werewolves’ transformations are cyclical but not controlled — or, in almost all cases, desired. And once they are in their werewolf form, their actions are no longer under their control.”

Two or three hands shot up, and Remus even heard Sirius shouting “But what about werewolf packs?” from the back row.

“More to the point,” Brocken said, hands now firmly planted on her hips, “it appears you all lack the empathy and intelligence requisite for a discussion of this topic. Which makes my decision to leave it off the curriculum all the more wise. Class is dismissed. Get out of here and enjoy your weekend.”

The class hurried out of the room without seeming to give werewolves a second thought. The only one who lingered was Peter, holding his bag hesitantly alongside him. “You coming, Remus? A bunch of the other guys are going down to the Quidditch pitch to catch the team scrimmaging before tomorrow’s match.”

Remus started to say yes automatically, then he shifted in his seat to stand and a sudden sharp pain erupted at his side. From the scar there. It had been oddly sore all class, but this was something different, stronger.

“I think I’d better pass, Peter. I’m not feeling super great. I might head upstairs and try to get a nap in.”

“Oh, okay,” Peter looked disappointed, but he slung his bookbag over his shoulder anyway and headed out. Remus followed a moment later, his side now warm and painful to the touch.

He was going to have to bite the silver bullet and go see Madam Pomfrey, wasn’t he?

He was.

* * *

When Remus entered the hospital wing, he found the row of beds surprisingly empty, Madam Pomfrey bent over a crossword puzzle at her desk. Good. He hadn’t been looking forward to making up an excuse to pull her aside — or seeing any more of the gruesome magical injuries he’d glimpsed in previous trips to this part of the castle.

“Oh, hello Remus,” Pomfrey said, jumping to her feet at the sight of him. “What’s the matter?” It was the first time he’d been in the hospital wing outside of full moons, he realized. It was very strange to see her out of sorts — whenever she brought him to or from the Shrieking Shack, she was always acutely composed.

“It’s my new scar,” Remus said. “It hurts all of a sudden. And it seems like it’s oozing or something.”

Pursing her lips, Pomfrey led him over into a private examination room, leaving the door partly ajar. “Let me take a look,” she said. He noticed a bit of uncertainty flash across her face before she caught herself. She clearly wasn’t expecting this to have happened.

Remus shrugged his robes back off and sat down on the cot. Immediately, he and Pomfrey could see a handful of red dots bleeding through his gray shirt.

“Well, you’re certainly right about the bleeding,” Pomfrey said. “But it shouldn’t be doing that at all, not with the spell I used to knit your injury back together. Take your shirt off, and let’s see what I can do.”

Remus did as she asked, wincing as the shirt pulled against the scab. The once-faint scar was red and angry now, and he could see a few small lines where it seemed to be pulling itself back apart.

“Did you do anything to aggravate the wound?” Pomfrey was rummaging through some cabinets at the back of the room now, looking for something. “Running about, some sort of activity in class?”

“No, I was just in Defense Against the Dark Arts,” he said. “But we just had a test today. No spells or dueling or anything strenuous.”

“”Well, it’s possible the wound reopening may have just been related to the stress of that exam,” Pomfrey replied without looking. “We’re still learning all the ways your disease changes your body. You heal faster in your werewolf state, and that doesn’t exactly go away when you’re back to normal — it just seems to change. Sometimes healing magic doesn’t work as well on werewolves, because your bodies want to do the healing themselves.”

“Well, that’s not helpful,” Remus grumbled.

Pomfrey looked over her shoulder at him suddenly. “Has anyone ever tried using dittany on you?”

“I don’t think so,” Remus said. “You mean the plant? We’re growing that in Herbology right now.”

“Yes, I suppose you would be.” Pomfrey grabbed a small jar filled with brown liquid from the bottom shelf, then closed the doors back up and walked back over to him. “Dittany is actually part of the cure for werewolf bites—”

“Treatment.” Remus spat out the word in a tone coarser than was probably wise to use on a member of the Hogwarts staff. But Pomfrey didn’t seem to take it personally.

“I’m sorry, of course. Treatment. I’m just saying it should be safe to use. Is that okay?”

“Sure,” Remus said. “You’re the Healer.”

She took that as assent and shook up the vial, causing the liquid inside to grow bubbly. She then uncorked it and tipped a bit of liquid onto a cloth. “Alright, hold still. There’s usually a bit of a tingle with Essence of Dittany.”

Pomfrey pulled a stool closer to Remus, then took the dry side of the cloth to wipe away the excess blood. Then she pressed the dittany against his skin.

Remus smelled the burn before he felt it.

“Mother of Merlin!” He fell backward off the cot as fast as he could, away from the sparking dittany and Madam Pomfrey’s confused face, and lay on the floor whimpering. “Ow-ow-owowow-ow.”

“Remus, are you alright?” Pomfrey was hurrying around the table, his original injury forgotten. “I’ve never seen— must be a reaction—”

“Get away from me.” Remus said, rolling over onto his back and pushing away from the hospital matron toward the wall. “What the bloody hell was that?”

“I don’t know,” she admitted. The young healer seemed completely undone, eyes near bulging. “I just assumed— Dittany must not have the same effect on a werewolf after you’ve been turned. Or maybe the burn is an intentional part of the cure—”

“TREATMENT!” Remus screamed back, vocal cords protesting. “You all didn’t CURE me! You didn’t SAVE me! I wasn’t a baby when that _thing_ bit me! I REMEMBER! I remember its bite breaking my arm. Whatever they put on burned then too, all away around. Do you want to see? Do you? No scar from the break, that time, but I’ve still got the werewolf’s teeth branded into my skin, forever. Scar number 1.

“The first time I turned, I was in the basement of St. Mungo’s, a dozen witches and wizards watching me with wands drawn to make sure I was actually the monster they thought I was. I was five years old and one of them still thought they needed to rebreak my arm to protect himself. He was probably right. But there I was with an arm that kept breaking. Scar number 2.

“My mum had to tell me about scar number 4. Somehow I managed to scratch up my back in the basement one night, bad enough that it didn’t close up before I changed back. My dad did his best, but he’s no healer. So now I have a big long jagged line running zig-zag down my back. That was when I was seven. That same year, I got scar number 5, right here under my jaw, when my father had to hit me with a tree so I didn’t kill our next-door neighbor. A little bit of tree got stuck under the skin. Have you ever had a splinter go so deep it festers, Madam Pomfrey? So deep my inhuman monstrous body couldn’t even push it out?

“I got the two scars on my ankles the first night with my ‘big boy’ shackles. I practically stripped them trying to get out. You know, so I could run upstairs and eat my parents? I was nine, and those were scars number 9 and 10. I remember crying for a week because that was the first time I realized that I was probably always going to have more scars than years alive. I haven’t been able to outrun that number since.

“The last scar I got? Scar number 13? That was the month before Dumbledore came to visit me and told me that I would get to come to Hogwarts. It’s right here. Right on my neck. It bled everywhere when I cut myself and my parents just had to set upstairs and hope I didn’t die before it clotted. But it’s my lucky scar, I decided, because it was the last one I got before Dumbledore came and said I could come to Hogwarts and I would be safe. But I’m not safe. I’m not going to hurt anyone else but I’M NOT SAFE! I’m NEVER going to be safe. AM I?! AM I?!”

Remus’s last scream collapsed into sobs, uncontrollable and painful. Pomfrey had frozen a few feet away from him as he screamed at her, and she showed no sign of moving toward him now. Good.

When he finally, finally stopped crying, he looked up to see that she had moved to sit on the cot, biting her upper lip. There was a tear running down her face too, though she wiped it away as soon as she saw he was looking. “I’m sorry, Remus. I didn’t know about the dittany. Or any of it. I’m trying to do my best here.”

“Well, me too,” Remus said, staggering to his feet and pulling his shirt over his head. “I just don’t really know how.”

And then he ran off, before he could start crying in front of her again.

* * *

Madame Pomfrey must have called for Dumbledore right away after his outburst, because Remus had only been able to brood in the abandoned part of the hospital wing for an hour before the headmaster showed up.

“How are you feeling today, Remus?” Dumbledore had come into the room without a sound, ebony heels strangely not clicking on the stones. He was holding the robes Remus had forgotten under his arms and looking at him with an expression that was too jaunty, too cavalier. It made Remus want to yell, or bite him.

But instead, he just said, “Hello, Professor,” and then shifted in the chaise lounge to look at the rest of the sitting room. It was where Pomfrey had stuck him while he was recovering last month, and he hadn’t thought she would have even considered that he had come back here instead of running into the castle proper. He didn’t like the look of it in truth — too dusty and drab from lack of use — but in time, he would probably get used to brushing off the chairs before sitting in them, or the way every sunbeam looked cloudy.

Dumbledore let him sit without speaking for a few moments. Remus wasn’t talking first, no matter how petulant it made him seem.

But when Dumbledore spoke, Remus was immediately on alert. “A werewolf told me you would be very unhappy here.”

Remus sat up, eyes wide with surprise, but Dumbledore didn’t react. “At first I thought he was just being surly because I’d shown up in his neck of the woods — literally, of course; he’d gone into isolation deep in Siberia. Very difficult to find, which I imagine was the point.

“But the more I spoke with Dominic, the more I came to realize he was deadly serious. He was the last werewolf to seriously petition to come to Hogwarts, about 40, 50 years back. Back in those times, the headmistress was Callidora Grimwig — a pleasant and fair witch, but also terribly hesitant to do anything scandalous. Her predecessor had just been sacked for threatening to close Hogwarts permanently until the situation in the east was resolved—” Remus blinked with confusion at that, but Dumbledore pressed on. “—and I don’t remember Callidora ever taking a major action unless it was one she knew the board of governors would unanimously agree with her on.

“And bringing a werewolf to school was certainly a notion the governors would not be in favor of. But Dominic and his parents were insistent. Like you, Remus, Dominic was bitten as a child, though he was a bit older when it happened — 9, I believe. And his parents were somewhat prominent wizards, so before this there was no question that he’d be attending Hogwarts in a few short years, just as all his older siblings had done.”

“But he didn’t,” Remus said. He could see the outline of this story already.

“No,” Dumbledore replied. “He was not granted admission. He and his parents petitioned year after year — at first for him to be inducted as a first-year, then just for him to be able to attend some classes periodically as a sort of day student, just to learn some basic magic. Every year for five years, his petition would arrive in August, and every year Callidora would wring her hands for two weeks and then send back the same answer without ever consulting a soul outside the teaching staff.”

“So then he finally gave up?”

Dumbledore hesitated before speaking again. “I don’t believe Dominic ever truly gave up, but the petitions stopped after the fifth year. Because Dominic got free of his bonds one full moon and killed his parents.”

An uneasy quiver went through Remus’ body. This close to the full moon, not enough of it was fear. Unless you counted the second wave. The fear of his hunger.

“For Callidora, I think this was a perverse bit of relief, terrible as that is — all her worries were validated. But I always thought we had failed that boy. If we had accepted him into Hogwarts, he would have been under the supervision of some of the nation’s most talented witches and wizards every full moon. Instead, he was locked in an attic every month, and woke up one morning as a 15-year-old murderer and runaway.”

“So that’s why I’m here,” Remus said. “So you all can make sure I never kill anyone.”

“Perhaps that was a bad choice of words,” Dumbledore said, coming a little closer. “I want you to have a regular education, Remus. Not grow up alone, teaching yourself scraps of magic here and there and living in fear. I want you to have the skills so that you can protect yourself every month, and the confidence to believe you deserve to be around people every other night of the year. And more than anything else, if someone comes to you in 40 years to ask if you think another werewolf should be able to attend Hogwarts, I want you to be here in Britain, surrounded by your family, telling them yes.”

Remus couldn’t think of anything to say. On the one hand, that was ridiculous. He was a werewolf. Dumbledore was risking everything by having him here and he was going to regret it. And yet…

“Neither Madam Pomfrey or I truly know what it’s like to be in your shoes, Remus. And you’re right that there may never be a true cure for this disease. But I am doing my best to ensure that you are as happy as you can possibly be while you are here in our care. Whether that be providing you with moral support…or practical support.”

Remus looked directly at Dumbledore for the first time. There was a twinkle in the headmaster’s eye now. “Practical support?”

“You mentioned that you were especially hungry after your transformations, to Madam Pomfrey, and I suspect it is much the same in the days leading up to the full moon. It happens that I have a bit of a solution for that. Assuming you have no opposition to bending a rule or two to get into the kitchens…”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And so ends another installment in The Continuing Bleakness of Remus Lupin... Don't worry, he's gonna be less of a buzzkill once he makes friends with the other Marauders.
> 
> Here's to hoping Fantastic Beasts 2 doesn't screw up this established Hogwarts headmaster timeline, I suppose. 
> 
> Thanks to everyone for reading this far, and see you next week!


	9. P.S. I Love You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter's mum hasn't written him back since she abandoned the family. His dad hasn't stopped writing. And Peter can't seem to figure out what to do about it.

_Dear Peter,_

_I know you’re getting these letters._

_I understand you not wanting to talk about what’s going on with me or your mother. I’m not even sure I want to talk about it._

_But I just want to know you’re okay. Ask you about your classes. Find out how you’re liking Gryffindor. (Find out if Gryffindors are still as sanctimonious as they were in my day.)_

_I can’t do any of that if you don’t write me back._

_I’m going to keep sending Mordred with letters and records either way. It’d just be nice to see Ringo appearing on my doorstep with a letter of his own one day._

_You know I love you, son._

_Dad_

Peter threw the letter back on top of all the others, on a rusty orange ottoman next to the couch, and tried to focus on “Octopus’s Garden” and nothing else.

_(Yeah right — that’s the third time you’ve re-read that stupid note.)_

He’d done a pretty good job of sprucing up his little Cavern Club, as he’d come to think of it. The less comfortable couches had all been pushed up against the wall, and he’d repurposed one of the side tables as a stand for his record player — and one at a time, the records his dad kept sending him via owl post.

He’d sent the first one — _Please Please Me_ — about four days after he’d gotten the letter from Mum. That was the longest letter, at the bottom of the stack, full of apologies and places where his quill had scratched through the parchment and refusals to explain exactly what had happened.

Peter hadn’t even responded to his mum’s letter, the only letter. He certainly wasn’t replying to his dad’s.

So the letters and records had kept coming, every few days.

“I know this must be hard for you.” _Let It Bleed_.

“Happy birthday. It’s strange not to have you here.” _Who’s Next._

“We don’t have to talk about Mum. Tell me about your classes. Is ol’ Apollo Sargas still teaching Astronomy or did he finally go blind?” _Electric Ladyland._

“You know I love you, son.” _Led Zeppelin III._ _Bringing It All Back Home. Revolver._

So now Peter had a stack of records. A stack of letters. And his own private Cavern to think about them both in.

Just what he’d been hoping for.

To be perfectly honest, he didn’t even know what he wanted instead. Did he want his mum to still be living at home, apparently miserable, sneaking off to visit her Muggle boyfriend?

_(Because that’s what she’s been doing, all those times she had been gone and he’d looked for her and she’d come back with a bad explanation and a worse expression of guilt.)_

Or did he want his dad to go radio silence too? Then he would be here at Hogwarts practically all by himself — Remus and James didn’t count; they barely paid a lick of attention to him. At least his dad was thinking about him every time he sent a letter. Worrying. Not taking a hint, but worrying.

It was November 11, 1971. His parents’ 15th wedding anniversary.

A sudden silence startled him; Side 1 had just dropped off and was rotating round and round on the locked groove. Peter was suddenly struck by the impulse to leave it there. Get up and walk out of the Cavern, out of the corridor, out of the castle. Wander the grounds or go off into the Forbidden Forest and walk as long as he could before something ate him.

It tempted him.

Then Peter shook his head to clear the thought away. No good could come of thinking like that. No good.

He took another long look at the pile of letters on the ottoman. Felt the letter in the pocket of his robe. Then reached over and lifted the arm of the turntable.

* * *

“Hey, where you been, Pettigrew?”

A couple of the Gryffindors James was lounging round with in front of the fire looked up when he greeted Peter, but the rest just ignored him as usual. Peter realized he didn’t properly recognize any of them, which meant they were second-years or older. Except for Daisy — in addition to being his Potions partner, she was the only one in the bunch who didn’t think Pink Floyd was someone from a Chocolate Frog card.

“Just wandering about,” he lied, hesitating slightly on his way upstairs. He liked James, but Peter never knew what his game was. Especially not since he’d gotten caught trying to break into the Slytherin common room. Peter wasn’t sure exactly what had happened, but he’d heard some older students muttering something about how it took Madame Pomfrey three hours to get Severus Snape’s skin right again.

“You wanna stay down here a bit?” Daisy smiled as James spoke, but the other two boys who’d turned to look went back to chatting with the other kids, who were huddled around some sort of magazine.

“Um…I don’t know.” Peter had been gun-shy around the older students ever since the _thing_ with Sirius and the chessboard a few weeks back. The kid in the back might have even been with the group that had gotten in the argument with them…

“C’mon, Peter,” Daisy started, but a boy with wavy blue-black hair cut her off.

“Are we helping me decide which broomstick to save up for or aren’t we?” He was the one holding the magazine, Peter realized, and the one who seemed to be in charge of the little group.

“Oh calm down, Blake,” James said. “You haven’t even figured out how to change — what’s the name for your stupid paper money?”

“Pounds,” Daisy supplied quickly.

“Right, pounds — into galleons yet. Much less use whatever your allowance is to pick up a broomstick.”

“We can’t all be wealthy little purebloods, Potter.”

“My family’s not wealthy, we’re just well-invested.”

“That’s just the sort of thing a snobby rich boy would say.”

None of them even saw Peter go upstairs.

* * *

“You okay?” Remus asked, as he and Peter walked into Charms the next morning. “You seemed a little weird when you came upstairs last night.”

“Yeah, I’m fine,” Peter replied.

_(Except for my parents’ divorce and I have no friends but other than that…)_

“Just worried about that test we have in Defense Against the Dark Arts later today,” he lied. “I like the theory a lot less than the practice.”

Remus grimaced. “Yeah, I’m not thrilled about this particular one either. But remember, Brocken said she’s mainly teaching the Dark creatures stuff because she has to — once she’s through with the standard curriculum it’s all practical magic, at least until the spring.”

“Do you think we’re going to have to cast spells on each other in front of class again?” Peter asked as they came through the classroom door. “I mean, not that I’m afraid, but last time—”

“Ooh, what’s this all?” Remus interrupted. The long desks were completely covered with various locks: brass, silver, golden, copper, tin, who knew what else. And each one of them almost seemed to shimmer, to Peter. They had that same almost-invisible resonance as the entrance to the Cavern, just across the hall. So the locks must have been enspelled, somehow, though Peter couldn’t quite sense how.

At the front of the room, O’Brien was beaming down at them, hands clasped behind his back.

“Come in, come in,” he said. “Just push the locks out of the way as needed and settle in.”

“This is some weird stuff, eh?” James was behind them suddenly, poking his head in between Remus and Peter. “You think we’re locking each other up?”

Remus gave James an irritated look. “Probably not.” He hurried down the second row of seats, Peter and James quickly following behind.

“I’m just saying,” James said, as Peter walked past both him and Remus to sit on the latter’s right side, “this is sort of ridiculous-looking.”

“Wands out right away, everyone,” O’Brien said as Sirius and Lily shuffled in, the latter uncharacteristically late and giggling. “We’ve got plenty to do and a nice short explanation.”

“As some of you might have guessed, today’s lesson will be on the Unlocking Charm, _Alohamora._ ”

“Ohhhh, that makes way more sense,” James whispered impishly. “Sorry, Remus, guess you’re not going to be able to lock us out of the bathroom so you can take your time anymore.”

“If anyone is spending too much time in the bathroom, it’s you. You spend 30 minutes every morning making sure your hair is messy exactly right!”

“No, only 20 minutes.”

_(It’s definitely at least 25 minutes.)_

“The Unlocking Charm,” O’Brien was continuing, “is one of the few counter-charms that’s easier and more practical to learn than its obverse charm. In fact, you’ll probably be able to master it by the end of this lesson.”

“Yeah,” Remus said, “because most of the people in this room probably already know it. I’ve been practicing ever since our little adventure on the fourth floor.”

James looked over at Remus like he was speaking German. “You _practiced_ a charm you saw Black use while we were running away from a poncy prefect?”

“What, was I just supposed to wait until it naturally came up in a class?”

It’d been more than a month since Peter had bumped into Remus, James and Sirius on his way back from the Cavern, and the four of them had never really seemed to talk about it since. They laughed about it a little the next day, and Remus came up to him the day after that to tell him that he shouldn’t tell anyone that they’d seen Tom Gallagher with that other boy—

_(And since you_ hadn’t _seen him that was super easy.)_

—but since then it had been radio silence.

Except maybe it hadn’t been. Maybe he was the only one who hadn’t been talking about it.

It’s not like he thought the four of them were suddenly just going to be friends. He was just some kid who literally ran into them and happened to know how to keep them all from getting caught out of bounds. He got a thank you on the way to bed and the three boys each talked to him a tiny amount more than they had before.

What a reward, to be slightly less alone.

* * *

_Peter,_

_Hope you enjoy the new Zeppelin album. Not my cup of tea but it made me think of you. All those runes on the inside…someone in that band’s halfway to an O.W.L., I think._

_It’s quiet, without you and mum. I feel like I spend as little time in the house as I can now. Mostly working extra hours — which, don’t get me wrong, is extremely lucrative — but I’ve also started walking around the neighborhood more._

_I always needed to live in a Muggle neighborhood for work but more and more I’m finding that I like living among them. Their priorities are so different. They can’t see the whole picture — they don’t even know there’s a whole picture to be seen — and so they find themselves boxed in by their ignorance and impotence. I walked past a pair of them arguing over what to do with their landscaping, what shrubs to plant or prune. For you or I, that is the decision of an instant, reversible in an instant more._

_I understand why you’re not writing me back, Peter. I’m angry and confused too. I hope you are staying strong up there at school._

_You know I love you, son._

_Dad_

* * *

“Good morning, good morning,” Slughorn said as Peter and the Gryffindors he’d followed down after breakfast shuffled slowly into the classroom. Most of the Slytherins were already there—

_(Can’t miss a class with their favorite teacher, the little brown-nosers.)_

—as was Daisy, his potions partner, smiling at him.

“I overslept and missed breakfast again!” she said with a half-smile as he sat down. “I’m getting too used to this place, Peter. Either that or too used to my alarm clock.”

“Don’t worry,” he said with a smile, pulling a cranberry scone out of his bag. “I figured you would be hungry when I didn’t see you.”

Daisy’s face lit up with delight. “Peter, you’re too much.”

“All right,” Slughorn said, coming to the front of the class. “Take your seats everyone. We’ll be starting today with — hello, Mister Black, please hurry along — a discussion about one of the most important ingredients in modern potion making: dragon’s blood.”

Slughorn flicked his wand at the cabinet of ingredients on the wall behind his desk, and it popped open with a squeak, a large decanter filled with maroon liquid that seemed to slosh heavily floating toward him.

“While dragons have of course been a part of wizarding life for centuries, dragon’s blood has only recently been studied, largely due to dragons’ obvious unwillingness to part with it and its tendency to evaporate if left exposed to air for too long. It wasn’t until our own Albus Dumbledore published his paper detailing his discovery of all 12 uses of dragon’s blood earlier this century that we knew all of them — although, of course, we did know that there were 12 uses thanks to Cosima Mundorum, the 17th-century “Seer of Specificity” whose 29 prophesies, including her initial prophesy that she would prophesy 29 times, all counted unknown things.”

“That can’t be real,” Peter muttered to Daisy. “Can it?”

“You’re the wizardborn, not me,” Daisy replied, shaking her head back and forth. “I feel like I can’t go a week without hearing something that surprises me. I sort of like getting it out of the way first thing Monday.”

“It’s so weird to hear you say something like ‘wizardborn,’” Peter said with a smile. “But I suppose it’s a matter of perspective.”

Peter wouldn’t call him and Daisy Mandel friends — outside of Potions, and every so often at meals or in the common room, she was generally a part of the disorganized mass of Gryffindor girls that migrated together throughout the school. But he appreciated the way she saw the wizarding world: not as a wondrous place beyond all imagining, the way most of the other Muggleborn students did, but strange and ridiculous, and no better or worse than the Muggle world she’d left behind. He liked that.

_(Plus she agrees that Ringo never gets his due.)_

“For our purposes, the most significant use of dragon’s blood is in modifying the potency of a potion. With very few exceptions, the addition of only a few drops of dragon’s blood to a potion will make the resulting brew significantly more powerful, long-lasting, or resistant to magical reversal. The potion is also significantly more volatile, however — which is why only the most skilled potioneers use it regularly. Well…that, and it’s alarmingly expensive.”

With another flick of Slughorn’s wand, a vial levitated off of Peter and Daisy’s table, floating across the room to join 12 others from the other students. As he kept talking, the decanter dispensed a small amount of blood into each.

“Today,” Slughorn continued, “you’ll be working on a potion of my own devising. A Testing Potion, if you will. Unnecessarily complex, and designed to trip up even the most talented of students.

“The goal of today’s class is for you to experience working with dragon’s blood in an environment where you can’t melt through your cauldron or burn out an eyeball or two. So, if you mess up the instructions once the dragon’s blood is the mix, your potion will emit a small explosion—”

A Slytherin girl squeaked in surprise, prompting chuckles from Peter and several of the other Gryffindors and an unamused look from Slughorn.

“ _Without harming you_ , Miss Chang. You’ll have a bit of colorful soot on your face, but nothing a good scrubbing can’t wash out. Do it right…well, do it right, and you’ll earn some house points as well as get to see what happens when you get my Testing Potion right. Sound good to everyone?”

Peter nodded along with the others, though he felt slightly nauseous at the thought of making his potion _more_ dangerous. He wasn’t as bad at Potions as some of the Gryffindors, but he was always extremely cautious every time he fired up his cauldron. Luckily Daisy didn’t mind, but it had kept him from standing out so far.

_(Like you stand out anywhere.)_

“Ready to start?” Daisy said, snatching the dragon’s blood out of the air as it floated back to their table and spreading out the pages of Slughorn’s recipe. “I’ll start the cauldron brewing if you go get the ingredients from the back.”

“Sure,” Peter said, hardly hearing himself speak. He grabbed the first page and shuffled back to the storeroom, waiting his turn as the other students all grabbed troll whiskers, melted-down candle wax, spine of lionfish, Stinksap.

By the time he got back, Daisy already had the cauldron half-full and boiling, pouring the dragon’s blood in. “You want to stir in the Stinksap and troll whiskers first while I grind up the lionfish? You’ve got a better instinct for this than me.”

“Oh,” Peter said, honestly surprised. He felt like he and Daisy had been coasting together the whole term, but if she thought he was the good potioneer…

_(Better pop that swollen head of yours with some spine of lionfish.)_

The first pair to screw up was Emory Greengrass and Liam Fannon. Peter didn’t even see it happen; all of a sudden there was a sharp pop and the two boys were coughing, rubbing violet smoke out of their eyes. A few moments later there were more bangs like firecrackers — Rowle and Shafiq going up in orange smoke; James, Remus, Jack and Imogen blinded by sudden bursts of red; Mulciber, Avery and Rosier buried behind a blue haze; and finally Mina and Helena screaming as their cauldron burned an ashy silver.

“As many of you have suddenly realized,” Slughorn said with a grin playing across his face, “it takes a bit of concentration not to lose control of your potion when someone else makes an error with theirs.”

His words were suddenly punctuated by another two explosions from the row behind Peter, but he didn’t turn around even as Patsy Temple started sniffling back tears. “Okay,” he said quietly to Daisy. “I think that’s 14 turns clockwise. Can I have the lionfish spines?”

Daisy handed them over wordlessly, and both students held their breath as Peter gently tipped the dusty powder into the maroon mixture. It began to glow slightly, the color all washing out into a muddy pink.

“So far so good,” Peter said. “Now we just need to let it boil a bit before putting anything else in.”

The students who had already failed at completing the testing potion were all at the washing-up sink in the corner of the room, so Peter had a good view of everyone who was still working on their potion. At the front of the room, Lily and Sirius were at the same part of the recipe as them, sitting back and watching their cauldron boil. Opposite them, Severus Snape and Billie Haan were bickering about how to add in the wax while two Slytherin girls mocked them from behind.

“You see those two?” Peter asked, pointing quickly at them.

“Yeah?”

“They’re going to leave their cauldron too long. See, it’s already starting to steam, and if they don’t add the wax that means—”

Their cauldron blew, clouds of green smoke covering their faces, but before Peter could even say anything there were more explosions from the Gryffindor side of the room. When he turned to look, everyone except a delighted-looking Sirius and Lily was walking away from their cauldrons.

“And then there were three,” Slughorn said. “Mister Pettigrew and Miss Mandel, you’re doing exceptionally fine work today. Have you been spying on Miss Evans the last few weeks?”

_(Is Slughorn actually the rudest professor in this school, or just the rudest to people he doesn’t like?)_

“We-we’re not spying on anyone,” Peter stammered, checking the clock to make sure they hadn’t waited too long. “You’ve got the directions here and we’re just—”

A motion to his left caught his eye, and Peter tilted his head just in time to see Billie furiously pitch the candle wax into the cauldron, despite Snape’s manic protests.

_(No no no it’s too soon!)_

There was a big explosion this time, and when the smoke cleared the combination of Snape’s hooked nose, greasy black hair and yellow-orange face made him look like a grumpy toucan.

“You idiot!” he shouted, scarcely seeming to be aware that there were other people in the dungeon classroom. “Couldn’t you see the potion wasn’t ready yet?”

“Hey,” Billie shouted back, “the instructions say boil for 15 minutes. It’s almost been 20!”

“That’s because our heat is too low,” Snape spat back. “The whole point of boiling it is that the potion needs to reduce, so the mixture is thicker when the wax goes in.”

“Oh, which you know because you’re some sort of genius!”

“Actually—”

“I think that’s enough for today, you two,” Slughorn said, waving his wand and vanishing their still-smoking cauldron. “Go wash up. You’ll be back on top again next week, I’m sure, Severus.”

Peter was watching the clock again. “Okay,” he said, nudging Daisy with his elbow. “Time for the wax. But cut it in half first. Let’s err on the side of caution so we don’t end up as orange in the face as Snape and Haan.”

“Aye aye, cap’n.” Daisy quickly split the small stump of wax with their knife, and Peter gently dropped in one, then the other, watching as the mixture continued to shrink and thicken.

“And now,” Peter said, with a little smile, “a little bit of wandwork.”

As he waved his wand over the cauldron, the reddish potion changed to gold in a flash, and a rainbow of light shot out, arching over the whole classroom. He laughed unexpectedly with delight, Daisy joining him. Out of all the things he’d expected — a false pot o’ gold was the last thing he thought Slughorn’s potion would emulate.

A moment later, Lily and Sirius’s potion did the same, their beam of light crossing in mid-air over the head of Slughorn, who was applauding with gusto as the rest of the class turned to look.

“Well, well done, all four of you,” he said. “Black and Evans, I’m not terribly surprised, but Mister Pettigrew — you and Miss Mandel being the first to complete the potion without working fast enough to ruin it…very, very well done. Let’s make it a round 40 points for Gryffindor!”

The rest of the class joined in the applause half-heartedly as they walked back to their seats, but Peter scarcely noticed. This was the best he’d done on anything, in any class.

( _Frankly, it was terribly hard to believe it was happening to him._ )

“Now,” Slughorn said, vanishing their completed potions with a wave of his wand, “with the time remaining in class, let’s go over what happened with everyone else’s potions, shall we? Mister Fannon: Your potion was the first one to go off. Tell us a little bit of what you did right before then.”

“We did it!” Daisy whispered as soon as Liam began speaking. “I’ve never felt so good in this class. I always feel like Slughorn is waiting for us to fail.”

“I always feel like _I’m_ waiting for me to fail,” Peter said.

Daisy gave him an odd little look. “Well that’s dumb, Peter. You’re good at this. Maybe not ‘Hi, I’m Severus Snape, eminent potions master” good, but he just got his face blown up today so that might actually work in your favor.”

“Well…thanks,” Peter said, tracing a circle on the table with his finger. “I guess I’ll take your word for it. I do already trust your opinion on all things musical.”

“Yeah, except for that time you tried to argue with me that _Revolver_ is not the best Beatles album.”

“Hey — I didn’t say it wasn’t the _best._ It’s just not my _favorite_.”

“Favorite and best are the same thing,” Daisy said, smiling. “Or they should be.”

It occurred to Peter that this was the first thing he’d done at Hogwarts that made him want to write one of his parents back.

* * *

_Peter,_

_I finally broke down and owled your mother earlier this week. Mordred came back from that trip empty-handed too. I suspected as much, but it’s still hard._

_Maybe she is talking to you, at least. I hope so. I keep thinking back on all those Muggle news stories we left on the telly, talking about how children of divorce fare, and it never occurred to me that you might be one of them. That you might be the one left hurting after._

_If you are hurting, Peter… I can take it. I can take all of your pain and anger and hate. I just want to hear from you._

_You know I love you, son._

_Dad_

Peter reread the letter over and over and over. This time he had piled up all the pillows in the room into a small cushiony mountain and buried himself in it with his many letters. _Revolver_ was revolving; Daisy had planted a seed in his brain earlier that week, though it had taken him a few days before he was actually able to get to the Cavern to play it.

Normally, listening to the Beatles was his go-to method of feeling better. But ever since he’d gotten here and found out about his mother leaving, it seemed to have the opposite effect. He’d put on a Beatles record, thinking it would fix his sour mood, and then — when it wouldn’t — he’d feel even worse. Only one minute into “Eleanor Rigby,” he could already feel tonight might be much the same.

_(You’ve got to write one of them back today.)_

For so many weeks now, he’d been refusing to respond to either of his parents. He’d had a good reason for it, at some point. But he couldn’t think of what it was anymore. It wasn’t like his mum was just going to show up on the doorstep and jump into his dad’s arms and everything would be fine.

That’s what he kept refusing to admit to himself, Peter realized. That this wasn’t a fight. Or even an impulsive act of anger. His mother had been lying to him and his father for months, if not years, about her happiness. And his father had done something to her that had driven her to flee — first into the arms of another man and then out of the house altogether.

He took his mum’s letter out of his pocket. The creases in it were starting to grow weak from being folded and unfolded. He held both letters in his hand, his mother’s on top, and skimmed it all over again.

_“It breaks my heart to break yours.”_

_“We are both very good liars.”_

_“I must leave you both.”_

_“Goodbye.”_

_“Shine bright, my little glow worm.”_

The ink on that last was smudged, where he had cried on it. His mother had called him that for as long as he could remember. Before marrying his father, she had worked as an apprentice magizoologist in the Department of Magical Creatures, on the Pest Advisory Board, and developed a fondness for the luminescent little insects. His earliest memories were of looking up in his bed at a set of them, entrapped in little glass balls that floated above his head through the night.

“You shine brightest out of them all,” she always said to him. “My darling little glow worm.”

_“My whole heart shall forever love you…”_

_“You know I love you, son.”_

But that was years ago now. Had she been happy then, when he was a child? When had it all changed? When had he and his father gone from her family to her jailers?

In her letter she wrote that his father was a liar too. A man as flawed as she was. But then she refused to share those flaws. She was leaving him in the dark. No glow worms to light his way.

_“But I must leave you.”_

How was he supposed to know what to do without her around? How do you ask your parents for help when your parents are the reason you need help?

Finally, Peter set both the letters down on the ground and got to his feet. He pushed one of the couches out of the way just enough to sit down at a small desk opposite his turntable. The third drawer had some yellowed paper, various inkwells and some ragged quills.

He took out one of each, closed the drawer and stared at the blank page. Thinking. Wondering.

Then he picked up the quill, dipped it in the ink, and slowly wrote the first word of his letter.

_Dad,_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Peter Pettigrew's string of bad decisions begins here... He should go back to listening to Revolver and thinking about his life and his choices.
> 
> Props to ch-ch-ch-ch-cherrybomb for telling me that I had inadvertently written Slughorn a nice technical challenge a la Great British Bake Off.


	10. Baby It's You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lily convinces Sirius to study with Severus Snape. This has made a lot of people very angry and been widely regarded as a bad move.

“Okay,” Lily said. “I know you don’t like him. But hear me out.”

“Noooooooooooooo,” Sirius wailed, dramatically putting the latest issue of _Martin Miggs, the Mad Muggle_ over his face. “I don’t wanna study with Snape and you can’t make me.”

He and Lily were holed up in an alcove opposite the statue of Gunhilda on the third floor, enjoying the last hour of good light before the sun went down. He was trying to relax after a long week of classes. She was trying to make him miserable before dinner even started.

“We really, really should,” she continued. “Do you feel good about our assignment for Slughorn right now?”

On Monday, after Slughorn made the rest of their class go over all the ways they had ruined their Testing Potion — terribly boring — he’d set them an assignment for next week’s class.

“Thus far in your studies, I’ve had you make four unique potions: the Wideye Potion, the Laughing Potion, the Rehydration Balm and the Cure for Boils. Next week, I will be asking you to make one of them again — this time without instructions, and without your partners. I will not tell you which in advance, so I strongly recommend you read up on all of them this week. Anyone who successfully completes their potion will not have to take the mid-year exam next month — and I will remind you that all my exams begin a half-hour earlier than a regular class and feature both brewing and timed essay components. You desperately want to avoid this exam.”

“Look, Sirius,” Lily said, “this is, like, the absolute first time Slughorn’s offered us a challenge in class that doesn’t have only one winner. Severus is the best student in our class—”

“No,” he interjected, “you’re the best student in our class.”

She ignored him. “—and if you say no I am going to study with him tomorrow anyway so then you won’t have anyone to study with.”

Sirius instinctively curled inward, crumpling his comic in one hand. “Well that just wasn’t necessary.”

Lily’s face dropped. He hated making her feel bad that he didn’t really have any other friends. But he’d rather do that than hang out with Snivellus.

“I just mean… Severus and I are really good at Potions and would be able to help you better. You could always study with James—”

“He hates me.”

“Or Nabin—”

“Hates me, and is practically Jack’s new girlfriend.”

“What about Daisy?”

“Daisy has not stopped talking about how smart Peter is since Monday. She is clearly delusional. Pass.”

“Remus?”

Sirius stopped for a moment and thought about it. “Okay, maybe Remus if he isn’t studying with James.”

“For god’s sake, Sirius,” Lily said, taking the comic out of his hands before he wrung it to pieces, “just stop being so stubborn and come study with me and Severus! Do you have any good reason not to?”

“I don’t like Snape.”

“That doesn’t count,” she said. “You don’t have any reason not to like him. And I am telling you it’ll be fun.”

“Studying is not fun.” He crossed his arms petulantly, but he could already see the wheels in her head turning.

“It will be as fun as studying can possibly be,” Lily said, “and you are running out of reasons why Severus is not a good study partner.”

“Well, I…” Sirius quickly wracked his brain. “I just don’t want to hang out with him. He’s a Slytherin. Aren’t we supposed to have house pride?”

“Aren’t we supposed to be brave?” Lily said with a grin. “Aren’t we supposed to be afraid of nothing? Not even 11-year-old Slytherin boys?”

Sirius sighed. Whoever this girl married was never going to win an argument ever again.

* * *

“I just want to reiterate that I am doing this under protest,” Sirius said, rubbing sleep out of his eyes as Lily led him down toward the ground floor. “I could still be asleep and not going to study with a Slytherin.”

She had woken him this morning by coming up to the boys’ dormitories and trying to murder him by beating him with a pillow, much to the delight and mockery of the other boys. They’d made even more fun of him after Lily told them where they were going.

“There is nothing wrong with the Slytherins, except for that mean bunch of pureblood boys,” Lily said. “And Snape is not friends with them. He says they’re terrible and always leaving him out of stuff.”

“You realize that he is _complaining_ about not getting to be mean with the school bullies, right?”

“That’s not what I meant,” she said.

It was true, though. Sirius had spent enough time earlier this year trying to get Mulciber and the other Slytherins to pay attention to him. He knew what it looked like.

“I told Severus that he should meet us by the courtyard entrance,” Lily said, undaunted. “That way neither of you had to feel like someone would see us.”

The mocking tone her words had started to take was not sitting well with Sirius. “Look,” he said, “I am not the only person in this school who thinks hanging out with people in other houses is sort of weird. I’m not saying all Slytherins are terrible evil monsters, but…things are tense, Lily. In addition to the centuries of fighting back and forth, you may remember that we lost our Quidditch match against them 330 to 0?”

Lily scoffed. “Only boys would think that someone else’s team beating theirs made them a terrible person.”

“Shards and scars, it wasn’t just the game. You do remember that the Slytherin captain put Isaac Langley in the hospital wing for two weeks, right?”

“Sev!” She was already hurrying down the hall, waving at Snape. The small boy still didn’t look like he’d washed his hair since arriving at Hogwarts, but he didn’t look quite as slimy when he was smiling like that.

Sirius slowly walked up to the two of them, hands in the pockets of his robe. “Hey, Sn—Severus. How’s it going?”

“Fine,” Snape replied, neither rudely nor warmly. “Thought we could go up a floor, use one of the spare classrooms? No one seems to ever go that far away from the main castle so we would be able to focus on memorizing the recipes better.”

“Works for me,” Lily said. “Sirius?”

“Far away is great.” Less chance of anyone else finding out about this little study group.

They ended up in Classroom 1B, after finding some older students trying the same thing in rooms up and down the corridor. The three of them were initially surprised by the room’s defining trait: a tiled mural of the British Isles on the floor, rippled like a real puddle as they crossed the blue tiles.

Sirius and Lily were both fascinated — giggling as they jumped up and down in the English Channel. Snape had deemed the effect distracting, so they had tugged some desks into a circle somewhere around Birmingham despite Sirius’s protests.

“So you’ve just added your ground-up Billywig wings,” Lily said. “What step comes next?”

“Umm…” Sirius looked down at the sheet of Laughing Potion ingredients he’d written down from memory. He still had Puffskein hair, Knarl quills and horseradish left. “The quills,” he said hesitantly. “I need to add in Knarl quills.”

“Good. How many?”

“Bloody hell,” Sirius growled. “I knew you were going to ask that.”

“It’s three,” Snape chimed in. “Everything in the Laughing Potion comes in groups of three. I always remember it by thinking of a cartoon laugh — you know, like ‘hee hee hee’.”

Sirius gave Snape a funny look, but Lily giggled before he could say anything. “Sev, that’s so smart. See, this is the sort of thing I would never noticed.”

“That can’t really be in the directions though, can it?” Sirius reached for his copy of _Magical Drafts and Potions_ but Lily swatted his hand away.

“No cheating!”

“It’s not in the book,” Snape said quietly.

“Ha!”

“But it works!” he squeaked, a little louder. “You need three quills and six full-size Alihotsy leaves and a third of an ounce of Billywig stingers ground-up. So I stirred it nine times every time and mine turned out the best. Professor Slughorn said so!”

“Professor Slughorn would say a vampire made the best potion in the class if it sucked his—”

Lily kicked Sirius hard under the table, and it took a lot of effort not to yell in pain in front of Snivellus.

“I’m sorry,” Sirius said slowly, as the patented Evans Death Glare turned his way. “That wasn’t nice. It’s a…good suggestion. It’ll make it easier to remember, I guess.”

“Thanks.” Snape shrugged a little. It looked as though he was prouder of his little insight than embarrassed by anything Sirius had said. He didn’t know quite what to make of that.

“So,” Lily continued, “you’ve added your Knarl quills. Heated the cauldron. Stirred it _nine_ times quickly. What do you do next?”

* * *

Much to Sirius’s surprise, studying with both Lily and Snape had gotten less irritating hour by hour, and by the time they packed their bags and headed off to dinner, he’d found himself able to tolerate the boy. No insignificant improvement.

Better yet, by the time Monday rolled around, he found himself actually appreciating having spent time with the Slytherin. Because Slughorn ended up picking the Laughing Potion, which meant Sirius could actually remember all of the ingredients and how much of them to put in — “hee hee hee; three three three” — and while he may not have stirred it nine times every time, he still ended up with a successfully completed, crimson Laughing Potion.

“Wonderful, wonderful work everyone!” Slughorn said, his voice booming off the walls of the dungeon. “Even those of you who did not succeed performed much, much better than the first time around.”

From the look of Sirius’s fellow students, most of them didn’t agree. He, Lily, Peter and Imogen were the only ones on the Gryffindor side of the room who had finished the brew successfully. More of the Slytherins were smiling; only Mulciber, Avery, Liam Fannon, Patsy Temple and Billie Haan had failed. The latter girl was looking particularly murderous about it, glaring at Snape, her seemingly oblivious former partner.

“As promised, the dozen of you who have successfully completed this Laughing Potion will not be required to take my end-of-term exam in a few weeks. But don’t think that gives you a license to slack off in this class for the next few weeks. There’s plenty to learn before the Christmas holidays.”

When Slughorn dismissed the class a few moments later, Lily darted across the room toward Snape, excitedly chattering about their respective potions. Sirius felt obligated to follow her over. The greaseball had gotten him out of a very difficult-sounding test, after all.

“—so worried it was going to be the Cure for Boils; you know I barely even got to make that because of Helena and Mina blowing up their faces.”

“I was more worried about the Rehydration Potion. On the way down here I couldn’t remember whether it was a half or a whole bottle of ink you’re supposed to pour in.”

“It’s a half, I think — oh, hey, congrats Sirius.”

“Thanks,” he said, forcing a smile. “You guys too. I almost certainly wouldn’t have pulled this off without our study session.”

Lily beamed like a sun. “Oh, good, I’m glad you think so. Maybe we can do it again sometime. Sev, why don’t you invite Billie to join us? She practically murdered you with her eyes when you finished first and her potion was just that horrible sludgy brown.”

Snape looked even less interested in inviting Billie Haan to join them than Sirius had been to invite him. But before he could say so out loud, Mary MacDonald’s voice interrupted the three of them.

“Lily!” She was standing at the door by Beatrix Bellicose, as a handful of Slytherin boys shoved past. “Did you still want to skip lunch and head down to the greenhouses early? Trix said she checked on our asphodel this weekend and it’s looking terrible.”

“Oh, Christ… yes, I’ll be right there!” Lily said over her shoulder, before turning to look back at Sirius and Snape. “Terrible isn’t it? Lily being my name, and I can’t keep a plant alive in herbology to save my life.” She winked at Snape and Sirius, and then hurried off after the other girls, already talking about something she read that might salvage the leaves.

That left Sirius standing alone with Snape. Not his preferred arrangement.

“Well, I’ll see you, I guess.” Sirius started to leave the room, but suddenly Snape reached out and grabbed his arm.

“Sirius, wait.”

He wasn’t sure if it was the given name or the physical grab itself, but Sirius instinctively froze in place, half-looking at Snape. “What is it?”

Snape seemed to hesitate, not letting go of his arm. Finally, he said, “I know you want your old friends in Slytherin back.”

Sirius pulled back like he’d been burned, turning away so Snape couldn’t see the expression on his face. Not that he had a clue what that expression was. There was a whirlwind of emotions rushing through him.

“I can help,” Snape said from behind. “I can get them to hear you out. That’s what you want, right?”

For the last two months, Sirius had been telling himself he was in the place he was meant to be. He had been making new friends, as best he could, resigning himself to the fact that it would take a long time for the other Gryffindors to trust him, resigning himself to the fact that he was probably going to be lonelier than the others. Resigning himself to the fact that everyone he thought had cared about him only a few months before had changed their mind, and that he wasn’t going to be able to change it back.

“Yes,” Sirius said with feeling. “Yes it is.”

* * *

Sirius was expecting Snape’s efforts to take long, but suddenly the Slytherin boy was intercepting him on the way to lunch the next day, pulling him away from the other Gryffindors as they shuffled out of Charms and onto the Grand Staircase.

“Where have you been?” he said rudely. “I looked for you at breakfast and you weren’t there. I finally got chased away from the table by that rude Muggleborn kid.”

“I missed breakfast,” Sirius said. “Overslept again.”

“Ugh,” Snape snarled. “Whatever. I talked to the others. They’ve agreed to meet you tonight, in the dungeons.”

“Already?!” Sirius felt his heart racing, caught completely off-guard. He’d expected Seth and the others to require some convincing, or at least let him dangle unsure for a little while. This was better than he’d dreamed.

“Before dinner. We’ve got a free period this afternoon, so you should just come down as soon as you get out of class; we’ll all be there waiting.”

“Where do they want to meet?”

“Well that’s the thing,” Snape said. There was a strange expression on his face, almost like he was embarrassed. “Obviously the common room is out, but you also don’t know the dungeon terribly well. So you’re just going to meet me down there and I’ll take you the rest of the way.”

“Sure, whatever you say,” Sirius said. “I just want to make things right, Severus. If you get me there, I can do the rest.”

“Great,” Snape said. “You know the steps down to the dungeon from the Great Hall? We’ll meet there.”

Then he was rushing away, down the stairs ahead of Sirius.

He was been a mess all through Defense Against the Dark Arts and Transfiguration that afternoon, running over his arguments over and over again. Normally, something like “pebble into pillow” would have been a snap, but his pillow kept turning out brittle and hollow, much to Professor McGonagall’s dismay.

That didn’t matter. The moment she dismissed class, Sirius rushed out, blowing past Lily and Remus and practically vaulting down the steps.

Snape was standing at the entrance to the dungeons when he arrived, hands tucked behind his back. He didn’t really react when he saw Sirius, just looked up at him expectantly. “Shall we?”

It was strange behavior, but Snape was strange. So Sirius just followed him silently down the long corridor. This was how they went to Potions, sort of, but before they got to the inclined ramp that led down that way, Snape stopped him.

“We’re going to cut through here,” he said, stopping in front of a column of bricks a slightly different color than those around it. A series of odd carvings was cut into it, going all the way from the floor to the ceiling.

“What are those?” Sirius said, reaching out to touch one. “They look like—”

“Hieroglyphs,” Snape said, swatting his hand away. “And if you don’t touch the right one, it locks up for an hour. So hands off.”

Snape reached up high, pressing his finger into a hieroglyph that Sirius recognized instantly as a cobra, rearing back.

“Well that’s an obvious choice,” Sirius muttered, as the hieroglyph began to glow white under Snape’s fingertip.

“The cobra was a symbol of Egyptian royalty for generations,” Snape sneered. “Not everything in the dungeons is part of Salazar Slytherin’s evil plot.”

Maybe not, Sirius thought, but it was sure a convenient coincidence.

Snape took his finger away, and the wall swung away from them into the room beyond, seeming to glow from the torchlight within. “Come on,” he said. “The others are going to meet us in here.”

“You first.” This whole thing was starting to smell funny to Sirius. But Snape just shrugged and went in first, so Sirius didn’t have much choice but to follow.

The hall was one long chamber, with torches illuminating the hieroglyphs that covered the walls, ceiling, floor and columns within. Except these all glimmered in that light, inlaid with gold or silver and framed by gemstones of all colors. On the base of each column, a pharaoh sat in judgment, casting large black shadows in the room.

“This is the Hieroglyphic Hall,” Snape said, gesturing as they kept walking. “One of the dungeon’s many secrets. Bet you never thought anything like this existed down here.”

“I didn’t,” Sirius admitted. It wouldn’t have been his choice of a meeting place, but he saw how it might appeal to Seth and his cronies. Who, he realized, were nowhere in sight. “Are Seth and the others still on their way? I thought they were going to be here when I got down.”

“They are here,” Snape said, turning to look at Sirius with a smile on his face.

“ _Petrificus Totalus!_ ”

Sirius didn’t even have time to turn all the way around. The curse hit him head on, the momentum sending him spinning end over end in the air as his arms and legs locked together. He came down hard on his back, his guttural scream muffled by his frozen jaw.

“Nice shot, Rosier.” That was Mulciber’s voice, echoing in the glittering hall. Sirius couldn’t see anything but the ceiling, which seemed to be spinning since he’d hit the ground.

“Didn’t think he was going to fall over like that,” Rosier replied. “Fun little side effect.”

“Avery, Rowle. Pick him up.”

Sirius felt the boys grab his numb arms and pull him to his feet. It was a dizzying whirl, enough to make Sirius wonder what happened if you puked while trapped in a Full-Body Bind. But when it felt safe to open his eyes again, he saw the full set of them standing right there in the middle of the hall: Mulciber and Rosier and Avery and Rowle. And, he realized too late, Snape, standing boldly alongside them.

“I have to admit it, Snape,” Mulciber said, surveying Sirius’ frozen body, “I did not think this plan was going to work.”

“It’s like I told you,” Snape said. “He wants so badly to be in with the rest of you he’s even willing to let _me_ help him. And he’s had it in for me since the train.”

With good bloody reason, as it turned out.

“All right, that’s enough talk,” Rosier said. “Let’s do the rest of it and get out of here.”

The rest of it?

Mulciber, Rosier and Snape didn’t move, but Avery and Rowle came back over, grabbing at his robe. Sirius felt his heart leap into his throat, and his eyes darted back and forth, looking from one set of unsympathetic faces to another.

No no no this wasn’t happening.

“Bloody hell,” Rowle said, trying to tug Sirius’s robe further down his arm. “We should have done this before the Full-Body Bind.”

“Oh sure,” Mulciber sneered. “We should have asked him politely to strip down to his pants before we hexed him. That makes sense, Rowle.”

Someone had to be coming this way soon. Snape and the boys couldn’t be the only ones who knew about this passageway. Someone had to be coming to help him.

“Rowle, stop messing around,” Rosier said. “Just figure it out.”

Avery was pulling down his trousers now, revealing his bare knees and the black y-fronts he’d put on this morning, and Rowle had given up with the robe and was now ripping his button-up shirt open, buttons flying everywhere in the room.

Sirius couldn’t get enough air in his lungs to properly cry, but something wet was still running down his cheeks.

“That’s good enough,” Mulciber said. “Move him over by the statue, so he’s right in the light and can’t fall down. We want to make sure everyone sees him.”

His eyes must have done something terrible, then, because Rosier laughed.

“Didn’t you know, you little blood traitor? Everyone in Slytherin House uses the Hieroglyphics Hall as a shortcut to get between the common room and the Great Hall. And it’s almost time for dinner.”

Something that wanted to be a scream drowned itself trying to get through his shackled lips.

“Bye bye, Black,” Mulciber said, as the other Slytherins began to go out the way Sirius and Snape had come in. “Better luck next time.”

Snape was the last one to leave the room. He didn’t look at Sirius once.

Then the door closed behind them. And the waiting began.

For the first few minutes — Sirius had no idea how long, in that windowless, torchlit room — Sirius still held onto the possibility that the curse might break before anyone came through and saw him. He didn’t know anything about this particular curse, so it wasn’t out of the question. The worst he and Regulus had ever used on each other was the Jelly-Legs Jinx and Tickling Hexes.

The delusion didn’t last long. The Hieroglyph Hall was warmer than most of the dungeon’s rooms, but that didn’t feel like much of a consolation with half of his body bared. Sirius could feel goose pimples creeping up and down his body; he would have shivered if he could move a muscle.

The sound of a door sliding open caught his attention, and his eyes darted quickly to the far wall. Maybe it was Slughorn. Or a prefect. Or even just a sympathetic student…

But the group of four who came through had clearly been informed that there was something on display. The two boys nearly fell over themselves laughing, and the girls gave Sirius two of the cruelest sneers he’d ever seen before they all kept walking through the hall.

That was the best response Sirius got all afternoon. Half the house must have gone back to the common room, and as dinner drew nearer they came filtering through group by group, each taking their time mocking him. After a while, they were all starting to blend together in a blur of misery and pain, his muscles screaming in their locked position. The only people who stood out to him were his cousin Narcissa, who turned pale and dragged her latest beau out before he could even say anything, and Rodolphus Lestrange, who walked right up to him and spat right in his face.

“Good to see you, you filthy traitor,” he said, while his friends stood behind him and laughed. “Suppose I should thank you for dragging the name of Black through the mud. Makes a lot of great opportunity for the rest of us to rise.

Everything in Sirius’s soul was on fire. If he could, he would have leapt out of his skin and throttled Lestrange until they both dropped dead.

But he couldn’t. All he could do was make an angry little sound from the back of his throat. That just made Lestrange and the others laugh more. The burly seventh-year backhanded him then, sending him toppling to the ground, helpless. This time, it was the side of his face that hit the ground first.

“Pick him up, Lestrange,” the blond-haired boy with them said. “Let’s leave him for the rest of the house to see.”

“With pleasure.” Lestrange drew his wand and pulled Sirius back upright with some brief bit of wordless magic. “Let’s come back after dinner. Maybe the little firstie’ll have pissed himself by then.”

Sirius could feel a trickle of blood dripping down the side of his face, mixing in with the tears.

He completely lost track of time, then, once the last of the Slytherins came through for dinner. He had hoped he would at least be able to hear the sound of voices from the Great Hall, but there was no sound in the room other than the flickering of torches.

He could feel himself growing tired now, exhausted by the pain and hunger. It felt like something was gnawing at him, eating away at what made him Sirius Black.

Was anyone looking for him? Did anyone care that he had left class however long before and never come back? Sirius could see the other Gryffindors in his mind’s eye. James and Remus were upstairs at dinner, laughing at something funny Nabin had said. Lily was there too, taking turns between smiling at the other Gryffindors and looking all the way down the hall at the Slytherin table, where Snape sat, gloating.

How could he have been so bloody stupid? Of course it was a trap. Snape didn’t care about him. He didn’t care about helping Sirius repair his friendship with Mulciber and the others. Snape was a Slytherin. He wanted to be the one at Mulciber’s side.

And Sirius was a Gryffindor. He would always be a Gryffindor. No matter how much he wanted those boys to care about him again — and even here and now, trapped, half-naked, part of him still wanted his old friends back — they were never going to. He was a traitor now. A traitor to the Slytherins and a traitor who betrayed the Gryffindors who he was all too willing to abandon for a chance to get back within the old inner circle.

He was a terrible, terrible person.

Eventually, some of the Slytherins started coming back down from dinner. Sirius barely tried to get their attention now. But he still could see them looking at him, when he had his eyes open, and hear their laughter. A few of the students who had been through already didn’t even look at him now. He was just worthless decoration on the way back to the common room, nothing worth talking about.

He was probably going to be there all night, Sirius realized. Probably _would_ piss himself, at some point. Maybe someone else would push him over and let him lay there, so when the curse dissipated he at least wouldn’t have to wake up by hitting the ground. Could he antagonize someone badly enough with just his eyes to get them to come over and hit him, like Lestrange did? Maybe he could just assume he was hated enough within the pureblood community that—

“What the bloody hell is going on in here?”

The handful of students who had been taunting him stopped immediately at the sound of the other voice, who Sirius could just barely see from the corner of his eye. He looked familiar, almost. Tall with dark, short hair. And the glint of a prefect’s badge.

“Merlin’s ghost, Bulstrode,” one of the boys said. “You scared us half to death—”

“Are you three responsible for this?” the prefect shouted, pointing at Sirius. “How long has this boy been down here?”

“We dunno,” one of the others said quickly. “We just heard at dinner that some students had caught a blood traitor with his pants down in the Hieroglyphic Hall. We didn’t even know it was gonna be Sirius Black.”

“Fifteen points from Slytherin,” Bulstrode replied, “and get out of here before I make it more.”

They didn’t need to be told twice. Sirius watched them as far as his eyes could reach, as they hurried out through the far exit without another word.

Bulstrode turned and looked him over for a moment before pulling out his wand. “ _Finite Incantatem._ ”

There was a flash of red light, and then Sirius felt himself falling down, arms instinctively moving to catch himself. It was the most relieved he’d ever felt. So naturally he burst into tears like a baby.

Between sobs, he could hear the prefect walking back and forth, sealing both entrances to the Hieroglyphic Hall with a quick _colloportus_. Then he was crouched down next to Sirius, a few feet back.

“Are you going to tell me what happened?” he said, as Sirius finally started to catch his breath.

Sirius just shook his head back and forth. Out of all the prefects…he couldn’t decide if he should be happy or sad that it was the bloody Slytherin pouf whose boyfriend had tried to murder them all.

Bulstrode just sighed, then stood all the way back up and offered Sirius a hand. “Alright, come on up then. I can get you looking a bit more respectable before you go back upstairs.”

Sirius let Bulstrode pull him to his feet, staggering a bit in his trousers. He got them fastened first, then pulled his robes tight around his ruined shirt before trying to wipe his face clean.

“Hold still,” Bulstrode said, drawing his wand and giving Sirius a once-over. “ _Episkey!_ ”

A warm sensation rushed through Sirius’s whole body, lingering in the places where he’d hit the floor. Then he was cold all over, tightly wrapping his arms about himself.

“Yeah, that happens,” Bulstrode said knowingly. “But you’ll feel better in a second.”

Sirius couldn’t deny it. Even his hunger had gone away with the heat. “Does my face still look all messed up?”

“A little,” Bulstrode replied. “You want me to try and fix that too, or just stop in a bathroom on the way back to Gryffindor Tower?”

“Bathroom,” Sirius said immediately. “Thanks anyway.”

“Of course,” the prefect said. His wand glowed slightly, and the doors on either end of the hall both opened up. “It’s not far to the Great Hall; no one should bug you between here and there.”

“I know,” Sirius said, trying to hold in more tears. “I’ll be fine.”

Bulstrode hesitated, looking like he was about to say something monumental. But all that he ended up with was a simple, “I hope so.”

Sirius didn’t wait for any more than that. He was already out the door, down the hall, up the stairs, running for a bathroom where no one could hear him cry.

* * *

Whatever spell Bulstrode had cast on him had eliminated all the bruises Sirius had assumed he’d have, but there was nothing to be done about his bloodshot, puffy eyes. But no one noticed when he came into the common room and quickly said he was going up to bed.

No one, that is, except the one person he most wanted to avoid.

“What the heck is up with you?” Lily said, barreling up the steps and into the bedroom after him. “You have been weird all since Potions yesterday and you weren’t at dinner. Are you mad at me?”

The first-years’ dorm was mercifully empty. That meant Sirius could turn around and scream right in Lily’s face. “Am I _mad_ at you?!”

Lily went as pale as Nearly-Headless Nick. “Um—”

“No, Lily, I’m not mad at you. I’m a little mad at your friend Snape, though, since he brought me down to the dungeons this afternoon and walked me right into a bunch of Slytherins who were waiting to curse me.”

“What?”

“You know how I spent this afternoon, Lily? Petrified, stripped down to my pants, the laughingstock of every Slytherin who walked past. I’m already a joke to them, Lily, just for being myself, and your best friend made it worse.”

“I just…I can’t…” Lily walked away from him, bracing herself against James’s wardrobe. “He wouldn’t have done that, Sirius. Not on purpose. Maybe they made him do it.”

That was the last straw. Sirius’s wand was suddenly in his hand, and he was pointing it straight at a stunned Lily. “Get. Out.”

“Sirius, I—”

“You care about him so much? You want to believe anything to keep from admitting he’s just as bad as the rest of them? Then get out of here. Go make him feel better about what he’s done.”

Lily took a long, long look at Sirius. Then she turned and left, without saying another word.

It hurt worse than anything that had happened to him in the dungeons.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I promise, this is the absolute saddest this fic ever gets.
> 
> Mostly.


	11. Do You Want to Know a Secret?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> No one at Hogwarts knows Remus Lupin is a werewolf, except the teaching staff. So naturally a member of the teaching staff lets something slip.
> 
> Now James is suspicious, Sirius is concerned, and Remus is one full moon away from dropping out altogether. Unless...

Remus had expected his monthly departures from the castle to become suspicious eventually, but he didn’t expect that one of his professors would have been the reason for it.

It was Professor O’Brien who got the whispers going. Class was just wrapping up, and Remus was only half-listening to what he was saying about their homework because he was worrying about Defense Against the Dark Arts next period. Professor Brocken had scheduled an impromptu quiz on wizarding pests after Imogen Roberts had foolishly confessed she couldn’t remember the difference between imps and pixies during class — and to be honest, he didn’t remember either.

“…in order to make sure you really know how to use it, I want you to perform the Locomotion Charm casually all through the week,” O’Brien was saying from the front of the classroom. “This is the sort of charm you will eventually want to use on a dozen objects at once, or while lighting the fireplace, or just while yelling very loudly. Eventually it should become second nature — but I will settle for it being third or fourth nature by next week.

“So I think on Tuesday we’ll start in on learning the Mending Charm, while you’re working on this out of class. Then on Thursday and Friday, you’ll come up to demonstrate the Locomotive Charm in front of the class — we’re going to do the latter half of the alphabet first this week, since the first seven of you had to go first when we were practicing the Fire-Making Charm last month.”

And that could have been the end of it, except—

As Remus and the others began packing up, O’Brien suddenly smacked himself in the forehead. “Rats! Lupin, you’ll have to switch places with one of the others and go on Thursday of course.”

Remus froze. Of course indeed: Thursday was the night of the next full moon; Friday the day he would need to be out of class to recover. But no one was supposed to notice that.

From somewhere far away, he could hear a girl protesting. Probably Helena. She was always fast to see a slight against herself when what was intended was instead the accidental exposure of Hogwarts’s favorite werewolf.

“Oh, well…” O’Brien seemed to have stumbled all the way to remembering why Remus wouldn’t be there on Friday. “Lupin, you have that hospital thing, don’t you?”

He could feel every head in the room swiveling toward him. “Y-yeah, sort of,” he stammered. “I, uh…Relative…sick…” Remus hated the way his voice sounded, but at least it might convince everyone in the room that he was an idiot or invalid instead of a monthly danger to everyone in this room.

“Yes, of course,” O’Brien said quickly, “I am of course not intending to put Mr. Lupin on the spot and unpack all of his personal business. Class dismissed, move along, have a lovely weekend!”

O’Brien took his own advice before most of the students, shuffling out of the classroom with a forgotten textbook comically floating along behind him. The other students followed, murmuring to each other. Remus hadn’t gotten the courage to join them yet.

“Hey.”

James was still there though, waiting in the seat next to him. Of course he would be. When Remus finally looked up at James, he caught a glimpse of Sirius and Peter further back in the classroom, lingering in the doorway. The two of them seemed to notice each other at the same time and hurried out the door, as if afraid the other would accuse them of eavesdropping.

“What is it, James?” Remus asked, trying to remember how to pack his bag so he could get out of here. He didn’t really know yet if he wanted to just get out of the Charms classroom or Hogwarts in general.

“Um…I don’t know, that was really weird, right?” Just looking at James, Remus could tell he was trying to do the right thing. He was making his extra-Gryffindor face, the one he made when he was helping Pettigrew with classwork or trying to get Evans to pay attention to him. “O’Brien never really acts like that. Plus apparently you’re sick?”

“I’m not.” The reaction was instinctive, and fast, and clearly a lie. “It’s my…It’s an unexpected thing.”

“It can’t be that unexpected,” James said, gently. “You were just out a couple of weeks ago, no explanation, right in the middle of the week. It’s been a couple of times now.”

“I don’t want to talk about it.” He knew he was being mean, even as he stood up and brushed past James, but he couldn’t think of anything else to do. Maybe he should just go straight to Dumbledore, since he didn’t know what the difference between pixies and imps was and he was probably never going to learn since one of his classmates was definitely going to figure out he was a werewolf any day now.

“That’s not fair,” James called out after him. “I thought we were supposed to be friends, and tell each other stuff.”

Remus looked back. James was his friend, if he was being honest. Probably his best friend at Hogwarts. Maybe he could trust him.

Then he thought about his conversation with Dumbledore. And what growing old in Siberia might be like.

“Guess you’ve gotten something mixed up then,” Remus said. “We’re not friends, James.”

Twenty minutes later, living an actual nightmare and staring at a test where he knew maybe 50 percent of the answers, Remus still felt a worse twisting in his stomach every time he thought about how James’s face had looked when he left the room.

* * *

James didn’t try to talk to him for the rest of the day that Friday, so between that and James’s last detention Saturday morning, Remus hadn’t really spoken to anyone until Sirius ambushed him in the library.

“I see you’re not up to Quidditch today either,” he said, taking a seat without asking. “I know the stands are heated but it’s bloodly bonkers to me that most of the castle goes out for these games. Wind’s bad enough but I overheard Frank Longbottom telling his mates it was supposed to start snowing in a couple hours before I left the common room.”

“Yeah, I dunno,” Remus said. What was Sirius doing here? “Just don’t see the point in watching a game Gryffindor isn’t playing I guess.”

“Well, with how badly they lost a few weeks back it’s hard to see the point of watching a game Gryffindor _is_ playing, you know?”

“Ha,” Remus said, hoping his shortness would give Sirius the message. It didn’t. He just kept sitting there, not even pretending to read.

“So why did you decide to make the library your place to hide from everyone else?” Sirius said suddenly. “I mean, I get it: it’s quiet, and no one’s going to bother you, but I would just feel guilty for not studying.”

“I do study in here,” Remus said. “Why do you think I’m the only one who knows anything in History of Magic?”

“Oh, I figured you just skimmed the reading 20 minutes before. That’s more than anyone else is doing.”

Remus giggled in spite of himself. “Well, to be fair…I lied; that is all I’m doing.”

“I knew it!” Sirius shouted, smacking the top of the table. “Knew you couldn’t be that lame and still make it into Gryffindor instead of Snootyclaw.”

Remus was all-out laughing, somehow, and Sirius was too, until Madam Fludd’s head popped through a hole in a bookshelf, causing them both to scream.

“Boys!” In the shadows her face looked like a ghoul’s. “There will be no _giggling_ in my library. Be silent or begone.”

Her face was gone as quickly as it had come, and both Remus and Sirius collapsed into barely muffled laughter.

“Merlin’s beard,” Sirius said, “was that really the librarian, or are all these bookshelves charmed to create a monster if you talk too loud?”

“Your guess is as good as mine,” Remus said. “She does sound like that, though.”

“Come on,” Sirius said, getting to his feet. “Your hiding place is too noisy. I’ll show you where mine is and then we can take a vote on which is better.”

“Um…okay.” Not sure why, Remus put the book he’d been half-reading back on the shelf where Madam Fludd’s face had been, and followed Sirius out of the stacks. They followed the corridor all the way along the western edge of the castle, turning at the very end to walk along the entrance side.

“Alright, so,” Sirius was saying, “this is the stairs you don’t want to go up.” He was pointing at a small, unassuming stair between curved windows. “We’re right above the office of Filch, the caretaker. You take that stairwell, you go up and up until you get to his private quarters. And you don’t want that. That’s how I got my first detention.”

“When did you have a detention?”

“Oh, I didn’t, technically,” Sirius replied with a smirk. “I told him my name was Ignatius Avery and he told me to show up Saturday at 8. I heard Filch was very unhappy when he went down to the dungeons and found Avery still sleeping.”

It occurred to Remus that Sirius would be a very dangerous enemy, even as an 11-year-old.

“This one, on the other hand—” they were approaching an identical stairwell “—is what we are looking for. You first! We’re going all the way to the top.”

There were only two flights of stairs, and then a small landing with a single door. Remus reached for it, but Sirius stopped him.

“That’s just a storage closet,” he said. “ _This_ is where we’re going.” He reached straight up, and Remus’s eyes followed his hand as it came to rest around the ring of a trap door. Sirius pulled down, and a short ladder came with. “Go on up,” he said with a grin.

Remus poked his head out to survey a wide open space, a single room the width and depth of the whole tower.Or, rather, belfry, as he was quickly realizing from the giant church bell at the center of the room. There were eight floor-to-ceiling windows surrounding them, but the room was still a cozy temperature, even as the winds roared all around them.

“We’re in one of the bell towers,” Remus said, climbing all the way out and sitting on the wooden floor, looking around him in continuing surprise.

“Ding ding,” Sirius said, pulling himself inside and slamming the trap shut. “Stumbled across this about a month ago.”

He pulled out his wand and pointed it at the trap, muttering a quick _colloportus_. “Second time I came back here, I stumbled on a couple of students who didn’t think to do that first…I imagine this place is generally more popular for snogging than just avoiding Quidditch matches.”

Tom Gallagher and Nicholas Bulstrode popped into Remus’s mind suddenly. “You’ve got a bad habit of stumbling onto people snogging,” Remus said, before he could help himself.

Sirius blushed furiously, and Remus regretted mentioning anything. “Right, well…you just remember to lock up if you ever bring any girls up here. Bad enough when I run into strangers.”

After how he’d treated James the other day, it was nice to hear someone else suggest that Remus wasn’t a stranger to them, he supposed.

Getting to his feet, he inspected the bell. It was the only thing in the room, truly, but it took up half of the space. “So…not that I’m complaining about your epic hiding space, but…is it safe for us to be in here? This bell is huge — it rings, and I think we go deaf pretty long-term.”

“That’s the beautiful thing,” Sirius said. “Look underneath.”

Remus moved toward the bell and slipped underneath. “There’s no…ringing…thingy.”

“The clapper,” Sirius said proudly. “I was confused the first time I came in here, because I know these bells ring at noon and midnight with the big clock tower. So I went down to your hidey-hole and looked it up in a book.”

Remus pulled his head out from under the bell and gave Sirius a look that made him laugh. “I know, I know, shame of the Black family, cracking open a book and furthering his shame. But it was only this one time, I promise.”

“Okay, but what’d you find out?” he asked, crawling all the way out. “I’m really curious.”

“The bells all use a type of sympathetic magic, sort of,” Sirius said. “Whenever the bells in these towers are supposed to ring — noon, midnight, and holidays — they replicate the sound of the clock tower bells at the center of Hogwarts. But the bells themselves never ring. The sound just comes out of the tower.”

“Huh,” Remus said, stunned. “But wouldn’t it have been easier just to use magic to schedule the bells to ring periodically.”

“Well, the book had an answer for that too,” Sirius said. “You’ll laugh. I guess they used to ring. But because these bells are so much easier for students to access than the clock tower, they had too many problems with students coming in to hang out and messing with the bell’s chimes. So you see, my secret little hangout spot is ancient Hogwarts headmaster approved.”

Sirius was right. Remus did laugh. Harder than he had in weeks.

* * *

To Sirius’s credit, he didn’t ask Remus about the thing that had happened in Charms until the next day, when they went up to the bell tower after lunch. James was still sulking, and Remus didn’t see any way to make it better without confessing to being a werewolf…which really wouldn’t have made it better, honestly.

He was actually turning the problem over and over in his head when Sirius finally said something, having worked his way through the last of the tarts they’d brought up here. “Hey, so you don’t actually have to answer this, but…what actually is up with you this week?”

That chill was back again, stronger than before. For an instant, Remus thought of just playing dumb. But Sirius had invited him up here the very next day after O’Brien’s slip. Which suggested this had been on his mind from the beginning.

“I don’t know how to answer that,” Remus said, truthfully. He worried at the hem of his robe, thinking through his options as Sirius patiently waited. “I just…I have to go away sometimes. Not always with advance warning. Sometimes I know, and I can tell professors, like O’Brien. They’re not supposed to make a big deal out of it, though.”

“I don’t see why,” Sirius said. “I just mean — Remus, no one’s going to think less of you just because you have some sort of… disease. I mean it’s obviously not contagious, or you’d be in St. Mungo’s now, not here surrounded by other kids.”

It was in that moment that Remus realized he couldn’t be the sick one. Not because he wouldn’t be believed. But because he would. Because if he made up some rare wizard disease, and told Sirius, he’d have to tell the same thing to everyone who asked about it. And then they’d tell other people. And eventually, one of those people would ask what the name of the disease was. Or go looking through the medical section of the library to cross-check his symptoms. Or go ask a professor, and get the same stutters as Professor O’Brien’d had only a few days ago, and realize that something else was going on.

“It’s my mum,” he blurted out, with a quaver in his voice that was helpful but not entirely intentional. “There’s something wrong with her. Something Muggle that magic can’t help. She won’t tell me about it and my dad won’t either.” There were tears in his eyes suddenly, realer than he wanted them to be. “They keep saying they’re trying to protect me but it feels like they’re only protecting themselves.”

Before he knew it, Sirius’s arms were wrapped tightly around him in a sideways hug. Remus was so stunned he went still, and Sirius recoiled quickly. “I’m sorry,” he said, pulling his hands back. “I didn’t mean to upset you, I just… That’s just…”

“It’s okay,” Remus said, surprised to mean it. “You’re…you’re the first person I’ve told here at Hogwarts. I was just surprised by your reaction.”

“Yeah, sorry,” Sirius said, tracing a circle in the dusty floor. “It just—it felt like the right thing to do, but in my experience I’m always trying to make people feel better in ways that make them feel worse.”

“You didn’t make me feel worse,” Remus said. “It was actually sort of nice to have someone actually, like…care. As you may have guessed from my sad story, my parents are not especially warm.”

“We have that in common,” Sirius said. “Have you heard about my Christmas card from home yet?”

“I saw you got something at breakfast the other day. Didn’t see you open it.”

“Yeah, I learned that lesson,” Sirius replied, crossing his arms and sadly looking out at the room. “But Nabin caught me still sniffling like a baby in the dorm, so I didn’t know… My family is going to the Continent for Christmas holidays with my brother, to tour Durmstrang and see some relatives. I’m not invited.”

“Oh.” It hadn’t even occurred to Remus to think about the holidays. There was another full moon on New Year’s Eve, but classes started up again the following Monday so he’d figured he would come back a little early and go straight to the Shack.

“I’m not really surprised,” Sirius continued. “They warned me when they sent me my ‘congratulations’ letter for getting into Gryffindor.” Sirius’s tone was venomous; Remus thought he might start spitting blood in a moment. “I’ve just spent so much time here alone already — or basically alone — I’d hoped that I might be able to go home for the holidays and try to mend things there. Too much to hope for from the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black I guess. It’s just that after the week I’ve had…well, it was sort of the icing on the cake, you know?”

All this talk of mending things was making Remus think about James and their fight. He was probably alone now too. For all his charm, James spent most of his time at Hogwarts hanging out with him. And they were only fighting because Remus wouldn’t tell him the truth.

“Hey,” Remus said, slowly. “I think I should probably go back to the common room and talk to James. He and I are in a bit of a spat and I’m realizing it’s my fault. Do you mind?”

“No, go for it.” Sirius said. Remus couldn’t tell if he was lying. “I’ll probably stay up here a bit and then go over to the Owlery.”

“Well, don’t skip supper,” Remus replied. “I want to talk more, hang out. All three of us. None of us should be wandering around this castle alone.”

“Ugh,” Sirius said. “Potter and I are not friend material, I think. He’s such a snob.”

“You’re both snobs,” Remus replied. “You just referred to your family as ‘noble and most ancient’ without a drop of irony.”

Sirius looked away with a pout. “I think there was at least a _drop_ …”

“Anyway,” Remus said. “before I go, I want to tell you something. A secret. Something that’ll give you something fun to do while you’re here for the holidays.”

“Oh?” Sirius was intrigued now. “Did you figure out how to unstick that wizard chess set from the common room ceiling?”

“Better. It’s about the kitchens.”

* * *

When Remus got back up to the common room, there was a whole group of students in front of the fire, excitedly chatting about the Quidditch game. He saw Jack on the edge of the group, and hurried up to him. “James around?” he asked.

“Upstairs,” Jack replied, rubbing his hands together to warm them up. “We just got back from the pitch and he said he wanted to catch up on his reading for History of Magic, of all things. You two kiss and make up yet? He’s been a right mess all day.”

“Working on it,” Remus said, hurrying toward the steps. “Thanks.”

Their textbook was open on James’s bed when Remus reached their room, but the other boy had his head tucked in the crease of his elbow instead, looking away from the door. James didn’t even turn to look at him until Remus started pushing back the curtains of the other four-posters.

“What are you doing?” he said, pushing himself up into a cross-legged position. “You finally gone mad all the way?”

“Not yet.” Remus ducked his head into the bathroom, then crossed back to the door and slammed it shut. “We have to talk. Just you and me.”

“Sure, now he wants to talk.”

Remus crossed back to James’s bed and slammed his book shut, sitting at the foot and looking straight at him. “Okay, I get it. I snapped at you. I shouldn’t have said any of that stuff.”

“You have a real problem with that, you know?” James’s voice was muffled into his shirtsleeve. “One day, you’re nice, and cool, and then there’s like a whole week where you’re a real tosser.”

“Can I tell you why?”

James hesitantly looked up. “I guess. I dunno. I just don’t understand why it seems like you’ve got a totally different personality from one day to the next.”

And then Remus almost said: “It’s because I’m a werewolf. When I was a little kid, my dad made the wrong person angry, and that person shifted at the full moon on purpose to punish him by making me a monster too and here I am, an 11-year-old werewolf.”

It was what he had come there to say. It was what he truly wanted to say.

But the words wouldn’t come out. In his head, he could hear Dumbledore’s voice: “even your closest friends may surprise you with what is in their hearts…”

And then he was telling James the same lie he’d just told Sirius. “My mum’s sick. Something rare. And because she’s a Muggle, St. Mungo’s isn’t sure where to even start.”

James fell for it even faster than Sirius. “Oh, Remus…”

“My dad is keeping me out of most of it,” he continued, “and my mum too. But whenever I can I’ve been going off to be with her during her treatments. My dad petitioned Dumbledore directly and he granted me the exception. It’s just…when it’s coming, and I know it’s coming, it’s hard for me to be…normal. Because I don’t feel normal. Every other kid here’s just worried about classes; I’ve got a sick mum. I just want to be normal, James.”

“I get that.” There was a sick look on James’s face, and Remus felt a flash of guilt for lying to him. “I wish you would have just told me that, Remus. Maybe I’m not your friend, but I — well, you’re mine. And I can make friends with Nabin or Peter or even Sirius if I have to but I’d like to stay yours.”

“Me too,” Remus replied quietly.

“Do you have to go back to London next weekend then?” James asked. “Is that why you’ll be out of class Friday?”

“Yeah,” Remus said, “some other test I know nothing about. I don’t usually have to stay more than a day, though. So I’ll Floo back to my parents’ Thursday evening and hopefully be back by dinner Friday night.”

“Well, if you want me to save you anything on Friday, let me know. My aunt was in Mungo’s before she died years ago, and the thing I remember is how terrible hospital food was.”

“Actually,” Remus said with a grin, “I have a bit of an inside track on that. And I can tell you if you don’t tell anybody where you heard it from…”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry, everybody - even though I am happy to play with the canon timeline in lots of other little ways, Remus outing himself isn't on the agenda for the moment. The preteen werewolf angst continues!
> 
> Thanks to everyone for reading so far! If you're starving for more late-night Marauders hijinks, don't worry...next week's installment has exactly what you're looking for.


	12. A Taste of Honey

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Remus is out of the castle for another hospital visit, so Sirius decides to surprise him when he gets back with some of his favorite snacks from the kitchen.
> 
> James has the same idea.

Sirius stood in front of the portrait, staring at the bowl of fruit. This seemed very, very stupid. He knew Hogwarts was full of secret passages, but this…this sounded like Remus was going to be waiting around a corner, waiting to pull the rug out from under him like Snape had done.

But there was nothing to be done about it. He was already downstairs. Might as well give it a try. He’d either get humiliated or get a midnight snack.

He reached out and tickled the green pear. And to his delight, it giggled.

So did Sirius, he was so surprised. The pear had started to change but shifted back quickly when he stopped, paralyzed by the humor of it all. “Remus, you brilliant brainiac,” he said. “Who would have guessed you were the kid with all the good secrets?”

He tickled the pear again, making it giggle and giggle until it was a bright green doorknob. Sirius turned it, opening the painting to reveal a gigantic room filled with long tables that reminded him of the Great Hall, except its height led to a perfectly normal ceiling. He could hear the crackling of a fireplace from somewhere, and the whole space was filled with a legion of house-elves all scurrying about, frantically busy even though it was the middle of the night.

And there, right in the middle of it all, was a short, spectacled boy with his hair even more askew than usual, talking to one of the house-elves with pastries practically falling out of his arms.

“Potter?!”

* * *

“So you’re still heading out after dinner?” Sirius tossed an apple he’d nicked at lunch back and forth as he and Remus walked to Transfiguration, a bit behind the other Gryffindors.

“Before,” Remus replied. He was looking terrible — pale, clammy, twitchy — but he’d eaten two and a half ham sandwiches, so he couldn’t be doing that poorly. “I’m leaving right after class with McGonagall, actually.”

“Too bad you couldn’t leave earlier and skip it altogether,” Sirius said. “I’m not looking forward to this slugs into erasers business.”

“Why not? You’re the best at Transfiguration in our whole class, other than James.”

“It’s just…slugs. They’re so sticky and gross.” Sirius screwed up his face a little more than strictly necessary, with the desired result; Remus burst out laughing.

“Sirius, you cannot be upset because slugs are _gross_. You made fun of Emory Greengrass for a week when his cauldron burst all over him.”

“Well, he squealed like a flobberworm!”

“Peter, back me up here.” Pettigrew had been straggling semi-adjacent to a group of girls, but when he heard Remus say his name he scurried over to fall in line on his other side.

“What are we talking about?”

“Sirius here doesn’t want to touch slugs in McGonagall’s class,” Remus said, “but apparently that makes him less of a baby than Emory Greengrass, who nearly spilled Stinking Solution in his lap.”

“Um—”

“Just to be clear, it was Stinking Solution, not _Shrinking_ Solution,” Sirius snarked back. “I wouldn’t want to lose any more than Emory probably has below the belt, but I don’t think you can get any smellier than the Slytherins.”

Remus erupted into full-on giggles. Peter just kept walking, staring oddly at them. “I don’t think I’ve noticed the Slytherins smelling any particular way. Do _I_ smell?”

“Bloody basilisk teeth, Pettigrew, it’s a joke.” Sirius wasn’t sure how he felt about Peter. The small boy was nice — and had, admittedly, helped him avoid getting a detention for real, instead of one he could hand off to Avery. But he was somehow earnest and sneaky at the same time. And he’d refused to tell either him or Remus what he’d actually been up to back in October when they were running around the fourth floor together.

“Oh right,” he replied. “I knew that.”

“Quit complaining, Sirius,” Remus said. “Your slug-erasers will probably be lovely, rubbery, and perfectly pink. Peter and I will be lucky if ours aren’t green.”

“I’m good at Transfiguration!” Peter protested pitifully. “…Sometimes.”

Remus didn’t bring the conversation back to his departure until the three of them sat down at their desks in the classroom. While the rest of the class was getting settled, Remus leaned away from Peter and toward Sirius, lowering his voice. “If anything, I’m disappointed to be missing dinner, not to be here in class. Hospital food is lousy.”

An idea popped into Sirius’s head. “Oh, that’s too bad,” he said. “It’s Thursday…don’t we usually get the three-tier tart towers tonight?”

“ _Yes_ ,” Remus said, looking mortally wounded. “And I’m terribly sad about it. The blueberry and almond ones are my favorite and the house-elves never send them up outside of tart day.”

McGonagall rapped on her lecture stand with her wand and both boys quickly shut up and turned to the front of the class. But Sirius’ mind was already hours ahead. Sneaking out after curfew was probably not terribly advisable, especially so close to the holidays. But slipping into the kitchens right before curfew, when there wouldn’t be anyone else there…

* * *

“What are you doing here?”

James’s shout startled the house-elves, and the one who was speaking with him already hissed, “Master Potter, not so loud. You know you’re not supposed to be in here.”

“I agree,” Sirius said, hopping over the threshold and closing the painting-door behind him. “How’d you even know about this place? I haven’t even been here yet.”

“Can’t say,” James said, frowning. “I don’t think the person who told me wants it getting spread around. He’s not really the sharing type.”

Oh, of course. “So Remus told you too.”

James nearly dropped his armful of tarts. “He told _you_?!”

“I’m not diseased, Potter. Some people in this school actually like me.”

“Who do you have besides Remus? Started kissing Mulciber’s arse again, have you?”

“You’ll be kissing your own in a minute once I—”

“Pardon.” A wrinkled house-elf wrapped up in a lavender-checked tea towel was tugging on Sirius’s robes. “Will you be wanting your own set of desserts, sir?”

Sirius stared down at her, completely caught off guard. “How did you—what?”

“Your friend came down to get the leftovers from dinner but there weren’t any. So we’re making him a fresh batch. Should we add some additional ones for you or will you be taking them back up to the tower together?”

Sirius took a real look at the room. He’d thought at first the elves were preparing for breakfast, but he quickly realized they were making nothing but tarts — a dozen elves on dough, a half dozen ministering to baking trays, many more muttering to themselves as they watched them bake in the ovens. Then he looked at James. Still glaring at him, but his hands full of pastries. Some with jam, some with berries…

“He doesn’t like the lemon ones as much,” Sirius said, all of the pieces clicking together. “He told me his favorite was the blueberry. Blueberry and almond.”

The glare finally slipped off James’s face. “Oh. Oh, you’re right.” There was a hint of a smile now. “I forgot all about them because I never get one. He clears the tray!”

Sirius laughed. “I wouldn’t have known either, except he mentioned it on the way to Transfiguration. That’s why I’m here. Because he said he wasn’t going to be at dinner.”

“I saw that,” James said. “I was going to talk to him about Charms today. Since I switched with him I put off practicing _Locomotor_ all week and I was hoping he could give me some tips before he left. But then he missed dinner, so I figured if he came back tonight…well, you know how hospitals are. Sweets are always nice.”

“I wouldn’t, actually. My family has a longstanding feud with the St. Mungo’s board, so Blacks all die at home. It’s a point of pride.”

James snorted. “Of course you all hate a hospital. Do you also hate puppies?”

“Oh yes,” Sirius said, only half-joking. “Once my mother hosted a dinner party and she and her guests began to discuss the pros and cons of poisoning all the Muggles’ dogs in our neighborhood.”

This time, James actually did drop a couple of tarts while laughing, though the house-elf next to him dove to catch them instinctively. Sirius was laughing again too, while the house-elves just stared at them dumbly.

“Don’t need my own set,” Sirius finally told the elf at his feet. “But fetch us a basket to carry these in instead of making us take them up by hand. I see James has asked you to make an awful lot of them.”

* * *

“I just said ‘make us a batch of tarts,’” James protested later, as the two of them were practicing their Locomotive Charms on the lemon tarts. “My parents’ elves have a sense of proportion at least.”

“You must have gotten some smart ones then. The ‘Noble Elves of the House of Black’ are very much the bottom of the barrel. I asked one to bring me a midnight snack last year and it cooked a whole turkey. Just wanted to make sure I wasn’t still hungry after.”

“Yikes,” James said. “I think the worst mistake I ever made in giving one an order was a few years ago, right after my parents first got Jolbey for me. I asked him to send some books back downstairs, but didn’t specify they needed to go in the study. He sent a dozen or so straight downstairs into the bathtub with my mother.”

“That’s actually a great idea. My mother couldn’t get mad at me for cleaning my room and I’d get to drown a couple of the pure-blood histories she’s always trying to get me to read.” A thought occurred to Sirius, and his tart collapsed onto the table with the distraction. “Actually, come to think of it, that probably won’t be a problem.”

“Why?”

Sirius petulantly took one of the tarts out of the basket and began to nosh on it. “I mean, hello, I’m in _Gryffindor_ , James. Those books are probably all in my brother’s room now. At least I haven’t been disinherited properly yet.”

James gave him a sad look. Sirius hated it. Hated the pity in it. “Are your parents really that angry about you not being sorted into Slytherin?”

“Are you kidding? James, I’ve gotten two letters from my mother since I’ve been sorted. One said that she and my father were considering not inviting me home for the holidays. The other one confirmed I wasn’t invited home for the holidays. That’s it. Not even the semblance of a ‘Happy Christmas’ or ‘Congratulations.’ I bet if they could, they’d leave me here for the summer holidays too.”

James was quiet for a little while. “So how come you didn’t just tell the Sorting Hat…’hey, I want to be in Slytherin real bad’ or something? If it’s that important.”

“I tried!” Sirius hadn’t meant to shout, but the knowledge burst out of him. “I practically begged. But it wanted me in Gryffindor from the start, James, before I could think a thing. I popped the hat on my head, and in my brain this voice just says” — he could never forget the words — “‘Ah…now here is a true Gryffindor.’”

Sirius felt the impulse to cry, but stamped it down fiercely. He was not going to cry like a baby in front of James. “And the very first thing I thought back was ‘No, no, no, my family, we’re all Slytherins. I’m a Slytherin.

“And you know what it said back to me, James? All it said was, “You’re nothing like your family, Sirius. And I think you’re brave enough to live without them.’ And it was wrong. Definitely, definitely wrong. But in that moment, I froze for just a moment and I thought…well, I thought what if it was right? Then it was shouting Gryffindor and it was too late. McGonagall was taking the hat off my head and I just had to come down the steps and go the wrong direction and live with my mistake for the next seven years.”

James didn’t say anything at first — just idly moved his tart back and forth with his wand. As he finally set it back down on the table, he spoke without looking at Sirius. “I was in sort of the same place as you, getting sorted. My family’s been in Gryffindor for ages. My mom’s and dad’s side both. So I thought I was going to get sorted into Gryffindor from the minute I got on the train.”

“Well, you did,” Sirius spat.

“Yes,” James replied slowly. “But the Sorting Hat…it told me I could have been in any house. Ravenclaw, Hufflepuff, Slytherin — it was particularly interested in Slytherin, honestly. But Gryffindor… It said that if I went into Gryffindor, it would be the hardest for me. That I would have to be brave; that it would hurt me. But I chose it anyway. Just like you.”

“Such a hard choice,” Sirius said. “Having to pick the house you wanted to get into in the first place.”

“But that’s the thing, Sirius. The Hat thought I would have fit into any of the houses. It knew from the instant it sat on your head that you belonged here, with us. That you were the opposite of a Slytherin. That you were so true a Gryffindor that you couldn’t be a Ravenclaw or Hufflepuff just to stay out of a house that would have been completely wrong for you.”

“Well, I certainly wouldn’t have wound up in Ravenclaw.”

“You know what I mean.” James was deadly earnest now. “You said it yourself. For a second, you thought the Sorting Hat might be right. Maybe your mistake wasn’t thinking that in the first place, but going back on it an instant later. I don’t know you that well—”

“No, you don’t.”

“But I know you’ve had to deal with a lot since you got here. You’ve lost all your friends. You’re not clicking with most of the other Gryffindors. And I heard about the thing with Mulciber and Rosier down in the dungeons…”

Sirius was too startled to respond, the memory of the Hieroglyphic Hall suddenly fresh in his mind.

“And here you are. Still standing. Still fighting. Still picking a fight with me, if we’re both being honest?”

Sirius had to admit James had a point. His first few weeks here had been terrible, and things weren’t much better now. But Snape’s trick hadn’t made him curl up in a corner in the bell tower. The second letter from his mother hadn’t reduced him to tears. He was just angry now. Justifiably so.

“Maybe you’re right,” Sirius said. “Maybe I am a real Gryffindor. Doesn’t fix any of my problems.”

“I guess that’s true.” James reached over and started eating the tart he’d been levitating. “But I can stop being such a dungheap toward you, I guess.”

“Are you sure? It seems awfully easy for you.”

James put his hands up in mock surrender. “You can stop being mean to me too, you know. I’m trying here.”

“That’s not a super great apology.”

“What, do you want me to grovel?”

“No, I just…” Maybe he did want James to grovel, but you certainly couldn’t say that and be friends after. “I’m not good at making friends. Never have been. Everyone I was friends with when I came to Hogwarts abandoned me, and since then I’ve driven away everyone who I’ve wanted to be friends with except Remus. For now. So it’s hard for me to get used to the idea that you are just going to change your behavior and stop making fun of me and be my friend.”

For some reason, that made James laugh. “You really _don’t_ have a lot of friends. I’m not going to stop making fun of you, you dumb git. The difference is that I won’t mean it. Deal?”

James stretched his hand out, and Sirius just looked at it for a moment. James Potter was exactly the type of Gryffindor his parents would have loathed. A pureblood contemptuous of other purebloods rubbing their lineage in people’s faces. A brash joker with a habit of recklessly running around the castle. Someone who could be mean, but seemed to want to stop doing that. Someone like him.

“Deal.”

* * *

They didn’t see Remus all the rest of the next day, as they expected, but bumped into him heading down to lunch. The other boy looked almost gaunt, dark circles under his eyes, and he seemed confused to see both Sirius and James walking toward him together.

“Hey, guys, um…what’s new?”

“Everything going okay back home?” James whispered, as the three of them slipped a bit away from the crowd.

Remus’s eyes darted between the two of them. “Wait. You both…know.”

“Obviously,” Sirius said. “You told both of us you were going to Mungo’s today.”

“Separately.”

“Well we’re all on the same page now,” James replied. “How are you?

“Fine,” Remus said empathetically. “But I’m starving. Can we get lunch and talk about it later?”

Sirius and James shared a grin, which seemed to unnerve Remus for some reason. “We’re skipping lunch,” Sirius said. “Come on back up to Gryffindor Tower with us. We’ve got a bit of a surprise for you.”

Remus let himself be led back up the Grand Staircase, all the way past the Fat Lady (“Troll Teeth”), and back into their dormitory. They’d put the basket of tarts in Sirius’s wardrobe to keep anyone from snatching it.

“I’m not proper friends with anyone in our year, you see,” Sirius explained as Remus opened the doors. “So there’d be no reason for anyone to go bothering all my stuff.”

But as the three of them sat on Remus’s four-poster, laughing and stuffing themselves with one pastry after another, Sirius knew that wasn’t true anymore.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It has been a long, long wait, but the long national nightmare of James and Sirius not being friends is finally over. Snacks, once again, are the thing that brings people together.
> 
> Next week, we're going to start tying the rest of these loose threads together... Stay tuned!


	13. There's a Place

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As the Christmas holidays approach, Remus is excited to see his family again. But when the cold everyone at Hogwarts seems to be getting is revealed to be something much worse, he finds he may have to change his plans... a decision with surprising consequences.

Remus had heard the winter weather could be strange at Hogwarts, but he’d never seen anything like the blizzard that had engulfed the castle this week. It was like the castle was in the eye of a cyclone, snow and ice pattering and clattering against every window. He’d gone up to the bell tower with Sirius yesterday to experience it close up and they’d decided to leave only a few minutes later — worried one of the windows might break in.

It was enough for him to be worried about getting home for the holidays. He’d mentioned it to one of the older students over the weekend, that the Hogwarts Express might not leave in a storm like this, but Trystan had just laughed at him.

“Hogwarts doesn’t really have weather,” he said. “It has moods. It could be clear skies again by tomorrow. Besides, the Hogwarts Express is a train run on magic; you think a blizzard can stop it?”

Maybe not, but Trystan had been wrong about the storm. Four days later it was still raging, and now it seemed as though it had brought a cold with it. All of a sudden, just about every student in the castle seemed to have a cough, and it was making classes intolerable. Remus was already bad enough at Transfiguration, but he hadn’t been able to concentrate worth a damn this afternoon, especially once McGonagall started looming over him and asking questions about why his bit of coal wasn’t a candle yet.

Whether the storm faded away or not, Remus was not going to be stuck here over the holidays. He knew Sirius would be — and he felt bad about that — but there was a full moon on New Year’s Eve, and his friend would definitely think it was suspicious if he just vanished from the castle one night. Besides, what jerk doesn’t visit his sick mum for Christmas? So back home it was, along with all the rest of the Gryffindor boys, as far as he knew.

“Why don’t you go to the hospital wing?” he said to Nabin, as the group of them walked out of class, accompanied by what sounded like a drowning frog coming from the Muggleborn’s lungs. “You hardly want to be sick during the holidays.”

“It’s just a cough,” Nabin choked. “Everyone’s got a cold, or getting it. If I go to the hospital wing I’m going to be around just as many sick people as I am now. Besides, I’ve got a great immune system.”

“What the hell is an immune system?” Jack asked.

The others all shrugged, but Peter started to pipe up: “Your immune system is—”

James talked right over him. “Whatever you have, it is clearly not working. You kept me up all last night with that hack and wheeze of yours.”

“Yeah, you sound like a dying Erumpent,” Sirius added. “I think we should take a vote.”

Nabin muttered a Muggle curse word Remus didn’t know as they started rounding the last corner before the stairs. There was suddenly a huge group of students ahead of them, laughing at something.

“What the hell is this all?” Jack said, hurrying forward. “Is Cordelia Roberts trying to communicate with her dead great-aunt again?”

“Better,” said a first-year from Hufflepuff who turned to face them as they approached. “There’s a third-year whose cough got so bad he’s started hacking up birds!”

“Oh, nice!” Sirius pushed the first-year out of the way and elbowed up closer. Remus and James followed, the other boys lingering back.

It was Trystan, he realized, sitting flat on the ground and coughing over and over. His sounded a dozen times worse than Nabin’s — it almost echoed in the hall, despite the large group and their constant giggles. And true to the Hufflepuff’s word, there were three yellow chicks hopping about around his legs, looking inquisitively up at the boys and chirping.

“Wicked,” James breathed, eyes lighting up.

But Remus had one of those werewolf feelings on the back of his neck.

“We should take him to the hospital wing,” he said, nudging the other two.

“Why?” Sirius asked. “It’s terribly funny.”

“ _Because,_ ” Remus hissed back, “he is in our house and it is not normal to be coughing so hard you spit up animals.”

“He’s got a point, Sirius—”

“Look, it’s not a big deal, Remus,” Sirius said. “He’s just got a case of—”

“Get out of my way!”

Suddenly Professor Brocken was there, and the crowd of students was parting around her.

“Alright, what did you all do to this poor student that’s worth laughing like that at? Spit it out.”

As everyone froze, Trystan hiccoughed up another bird, which fell with a flutter onto his lap. And then Professor Brocken did something Remus had never thought he would see her do.

Scream.

“Get away, all of you get away from me!” she shouted, stumbling back and away from the increasingly surprised group of students. “Merciful kings and queens, you’re all contagious, aren’t you? This whole castle!”

She ran, then, down the stairwell that led to the staffroom, leaving several dozen confused students in her wake.

“I don’t get it,” Remus said as the other children began to mutter all around them. “What was she so afraid of? I mean sure, he’s got a cold so bad he’s doing spontaneous magic…”

“But that’s just it,” Sirius said, looking back and forth between Remus and James. “He doesn’t have a cold. He’s got Warbling Cough. She must have never been exposed to it, and it’s supposed to be really deadly if…why are neither of you nodding your heads at me?”

“Because I’ve never heard of Warbling Cough,” Remus said, slowly. “And based on the way they’re all laughing, I don’t think anyone else here has either.”

* * *

The gossip, as always, spread quickly through the castle, though how much of it was true was up for interpretation. A sixth-year who had gnawed her nails practically to the quick was screaming in the common room that there were 30 people in the hospital wing already, three of them dead, but her friend had just laughed back that there was _maybe_ three students who had actually gone to Pomfrey, Trystan included. Whether it was three or 30, Nabin was refusing to be one of them, having heard from someone that once you went into the hospital wing, they weren’t letting you out again until after the Christmas holidays. And everyone who came into the common room had a different opinion on whether Brocken was alive, dead, or — in one particularly memorable story — had transfigured herself into a snowy owl and was now coughing up tiny humans.

The only thing everyone could agree on was that it was definitely Warbling Cough, and the staff was definitely freaked out.

By the time dinner rolled around, the common room was packed to the brim, with half the house huddled in corners whispering in between coughs. No one, Remus and the other first-years included, was brave enough to go down to dinner.

“Look,” Remus said, unconvincingly, “if we’ve all got it, we’ve all got it, right? So it doesn’t really matter if we go get dinner.”

“Okay, then you go down,” James snarked. He had made them sit as far away from everyone else as he could, and was bundled up under a blanket, talking with one edge covering his mouth. “For all we know, we got it _from_ the food.”

“That’s not how it works,” Jack said with an exasperated sigh. He and Peter were on either side of Nabin, the only ones interested in doing so. That included Beatrix Bellicose, who had come over with Mary and Lily and was clearly trying to hide her own cough from the group.

“You can only get Warbling Cough from other wizards,” Sirius said, like he was talking to babies. “Not food. And it’s not deadly to _us._ Just grown-ups. They’ve got stronger magic so it hits them harder.”

“You’ve seriously never heard of this?” Jack said, looking across the assembled group. “I mean, I know you Muggleborns wouldn’t have, but… I mean, I only got it when I was a kid because my mum heard a cousin of mine had gotten sick down in Brittany and shipped me all the way down there for three weeks. There were something like two dozen kids there.”

“Yeah,” Peter said, “some kid in my playgroup got it when I was, like, six? It was sort of fun, except for the coughing. The birds were fun to play with.”

“At least you were old enough to have fun,” Sirius said. “My cousin Bella got it the year before she went to Hogwarts and I got carted over to their house like a infant parcel. I don’t remember doing anything but coughing and crying the whole time.”

None of this was ringing a single bell for Remus. But since he hadn’t really had family, or proper friends, or the ability to spend more than a month without turning into a vicious bloodthirsty monster…he could see how it might not have come up.

“It sounds sort of familiar,” James admitted. “But my parents never went in for any of that sick-sharing stuff. They’re petrified of diseases. Sort of embarrassing, actually.”

“So what happens?” Lily asked. “You just, what, get a cough, and eventually start spitting up birds? That doesn’t sound so bad.”

“Well, it’s not,” Jack said, “for kids. But like Sirius said, if you didn’t get it as a kid, you can get it as an adult. And then the birds just…keep getting bigger.”

A quiet came over the group, broken only by muffled coughs from Nabin and Beatrix. Then Remus asked the question on everyone’s mind: “How much bigger?”

Jack was spared having to answer by the sudden sound of Professor McGonagall’s voice, booming out in the common room.

“ATTENTION GRYFFINDOR STUDENTS! YOUR PRESENCE IS NEEDED IN THE GREAT HALL FOR AN EMERGENCY ASSEMBLY DURING DINNER. ABSENCE FOR ANY REASON WILL **NOT** BE TOLERATED.”

The muttering started up again immediately after her echo faded, and all around Remus could see groups of students slowly slinking toward the portrait of the Fat Lady.

“Well, I guess we have to listen to her, right?” Peter said, half-getting to his feet. He looked surprised when no one else jumped up to join him.

“So someone probably is dead,” Nabin said sadly. “I did not come all the way to Hogwarts to die of some bird flu.”

“We don’t know you have that,” Beatrix said. “Maybe it’s just a coincidence.” Her own hacking cough, a moment later, put the lie to her confidence.

“Peter’s right,” Remus said, standing up. “I don’t know if we’ve all got this ‘Warbling Cough,’ but I do know what McGonagall will do to us if we’re not downstairs in a few minutes.”

That argument seemed to work on everyone else, and the whole group of them were soon heading downstairs, toward a particularly unappetizing dinner.

The thing Remus noticed first was the addition of a few extra witches and wizards he’d never seen on the ground floor, all dressed in sickly bright green robes. They were giving the whole lot of them odd looks, like they expected them to puke up a pigeon on the spot.

The teachers were all sitting up at the head table, with the notable exception of Professor Brocken. Dumbledore was up at his podium, looking somber, and Madame Pomfrey was at his side wringing her hands.

“Who are these new guys?” Sirius whispered, as they moved toward the Gryffindor table. “Terrible fashion sense, so I hope they’re not going to be around a while.”

“Not sure,” Remus replied. “Maybe they’re from the Ministry? Or some sort of wizard disease specialists?”

They hadn’t been seated more than a second when Dumbledore began speaking.

“Thank you all for joining us for dinner this evening. I know for many of you this was a more frightening and uncertain meal than usual, and I appreciate your courage in joining us. Knowing very well how knowledge travels through this castle—” the headmaster’s eyes seemed to twinkle a bit at that one “—I feel it is my responsibility to clarify a few matters.

“First, the truth: The rumors that Hogwarts is experiencing a Warbling Cough outbreak are in fact true. Madame Pomfrey has already spoken to six students who are exhibiting symptoms, which promise to be nonfatal in all of them so far.

“Unfortunately, we expect that number to only grow. This is an extremely contagious disease, and one very dangerous to grown wizards. In a sense, we are quite fortunate, as almost all of our staff members have already been exposed to the disease, and are in no danger.”

Remus shared a look with Sirius. “Almost all” would almost certainly confirm why Brocken had reacted like Trystan had been coughing up dragons.

“There is no cure for Warbling Cough — only time. And as you are young, you have plenty of it to spare. So, unless you are currently exhibiting symptoms beyond a cough, I ask that you enjoy dinner with your classmates this evening. You are in no immediate danger, and it is both my belief and Madame Pomfrey’s that a hearty meal will do all of us much good.

“Classes will be cancelled tomorrow—”

Despite the circumstances, there were more than a few cheers at that.

“—but we will be bringing all students in groups down to the hospital room throughout the day. Madame Pomfrey, as well as the Healers you may have seen on your way into the Great Hall, will be interviewing each of you in turn to learn whether you are at risk for catching Warbling Cough, or whether you have already been exposed. After that is finished, we will all have a better sense of exactly what we are dealing with.

“So,” Dumbledore concluded. “It has always been my belief that laughter is a crucial part of both medicine and magic. I hope you will enjoy the ‘fowl’ joke I’ve commissioned for your dinner tonight, and take it as an incentive to swallow your feelings about this outbreak for the time being.”

As a smiling Dumbledore stepped back from the podium, Remus looked down at his plate and smiled. Of course. They’d all gotten a sizzling roast chicken.

* * *

Pomfrey had been summoning students by year, going oldest to youngest, so Remus and the other first-years had spent most of the day lounging around the common room. He could almost smell a weird energy in the air, frivolity mixed with anxiety and fear. Most of the seventh-years never came back. Most of the sixth-years either, which made it worse.

“It’s not a big deal,” Fabian Prewett said, standing on top of a chair in the common room after they returned. “After their first few evaluations, the Healers just decided to take all of the sixth and seventh years who hadn’t yet been exposed to Warbling Cough to St. Mungo’s to run a few extra tests. We’re just more likely to have a bad reaction, because we’re older than you.”

Remus would have believed him more quickly, except he was sweating bullets, and his twin Gideon looked like he was going to be sick. Gideon’s girlfriend Dom hadn’t come back with the other seventh-years.

The fifth-years all came back together, though, looking relieved but a little grim, which put everyone more at ease. By the time Fabian was escorting Remus and the other first-years down, they were all sporting grins, even Nabin.

“You know,” Sirius said as they headed toward the hospital wing. “If most of the sixth- and seventh-years are gone, we might have the breathing room to figure out how to get that chessboard down from the ceiling.”

“Sirius, give it a rest,” Mary exclaimed, pushing her bangs back in exasperation. “You’re never gonna get it down. Just ask for a new one at Christmas or stop whining.”

That set the whole pack of them into giggles. Fabian turned his head over his shoulder and glared at them. “I’m glad you’re all having such a good time, but we’re going down into a hospital wing that’s dealing with one of the wizarding world’s most dangerous diseases. Maybe show a little respect.”

They were mostly quiet the rest of the way down, though Remus and Peter did start giggling again once James felt brave enough to start up his Fabian impersonation.

When they got down to the hospital wing, Fabian had them line up single-file behind the Slytherins and Hufflepuffs. Remus had never seen the place so busy. The green-robed wizards and witches were practically running in and out of the curtained beds, and summoning students in one by one.

“You lot all wait here — quietly — until you’re summoned by a Healer,” Fabian said, straightening his back to appear as tall as possible. “They’ll take your medical history, maybe run some tests, and then determine whether you are considered a risk or not. Pomfrey and Dumbledore’ll make a decision after that.”

“A decision about what?” Lily asked.

But Fabian was already hurrying away, clearly relieved to be done with his task.

“I heard he’s the oldest prefect left in Gryffindor,” whispered Jack, leaning backward to whisper to Sirius and Remus. “Everyone else is in Mungo’s.”

“That can’t be right,” Sirius said. “I know the older girls are both Muggleborns, but what about Frank?”

“I guess his family stopped worrying about that sort of thing a generation back or so,” Jack said. “Figured the disease had died out and there was nothing to worry about.”

“So you’re saying I’m not crazy for having never heard of this ‘Warbling Cough,’” Remus interjected. “Sirius was making it sound like every wizarding family in Britain was on the watch for it.”

“We all used to be,” Jack said. “But there hasn’t been a major outbreak in almost a century. I’m surprised we haven’t seen a reporter from the _Prophet_ yet.”

The whole thing felt like a surreal mockery of the Sorting Hat. One by one, a Healer would pop out from behind the curtains with a grey-faced student, sending them back upstairs alone. Then they’d walk over to a floating clipboard, bark “Next!”, then ask whatever student was next in line their name before dragging them back into their den.

They had finally gotten to the last Hufflepuff, a pudgy blond boy who looked like he might fall over from terror. “G-g-g-Glenn,” he finally stammered. “Toffee. Glenn Toffee.”

“Alright, kid,” the Healer said, unconcerned. “Come on in here.”

“I can’t tell what’s going on in there,” Jack whispered from the front of the line. “Almost everybody looks the same when they come out, even the kids I know are purebloods.”

“Maybe it’s not actually Warbling Cough,” Peter piped up from behind Sirius. “Maybe it’s something worse!”

“Oh calm down,” Sirius said. “If Dumbledore says it’s Warbling Cough, it’s definitely Warbling Cough.”

“Next!”

A pair of wizards were at the clipboard now, looking expectantly at him and Jack.

“See you on the other side,” Jack said, tipping an imaginary hat and going up to give his name to the first Healer.

“I’m Remus Lupin,” he said to the other as Jack walked away. “I assume I’m next?”

“Oh, I’ll take this one, Grant.” Pomfrey was suddenly there, intercepting Remus. He’d never seen the hospital matron quite like this — her nurse’s cap was completely absent, exposing a near-undone bun of hair, and her eyes were terribly bloodshot. “You’ve been working a couple of hours now, you could probably use a break.”

Grant clearly wasn’t going to argue. He left without a word, heading over to what looked like a makeshift canteen.

“Come on, dear,” she said, pulling back one of the curtains. “This shouldn’t take long.”

Remus stepped through, expecting to see a simple cot, but instead the entry opened up into a full room, with a larger bed, racks of magazines on the wall, and a handful of chairs. Madame Pomfrey pulled the curtain closed behind her as she came in.

“You can just have a seat in one of the chairs, dear; we don’t need to go through any sort of exam.” She took her own advice first, walking past him and collapsing into the comfiest looking one. “Merlin’s mercy, what a day. Sometimes I think my mother was right; I should have gone into dragon taming.”

Remus found himself moving automatically to a chair, trying to process the extremely un-buttoned down version of Pomfrey he was seeing. “Um…are you sure? I’ve never had Warbling Cough.”

“And never will,” Pomfrey said, rubbing her eyes. “Side effect of your lycanthropy. You couldn’t so much as catch a cold, not even if you were lying out in your stockings in the middle of winter.”

“Oh.” He should have guessed as much. At least his personal nightmare was good for something.

“Does throw a bit of a wrench into our plans for the holidays, though. Have you mentioned to anyone that you’ve never had Warbling Cough?”

“Yeah,” Remus said, thinking of his conversation with the boys from earlier. “Is that bad?”

“No, no, it’ll be fine,” Pomfrey said. “We’ll just have to change our plans a little bit. No one who hasn’t had Warbling Cough before is going to be allowed out of Hogwarts.”

“Wait, what?”

“It’s terribly contagious,” she said, looking over at him like he was daft. “And as you can hear from the number of students hacking up their lungs in the halls, not nearly enough wizards are immune to it anymore. It’s a small miracle the outbreak happened all the way up here — scarcely any of you students are in any danger, even the ones we took to St. Mungo’s as a precaution, and Hogsmeade isn’t too big to quarantine.”

“So you think it’s all the way down in the village too?” Remus only knew Hogsmeade by reputation — his dad had told him once that he was thinking of moving there before… well, before the attack. But it was strange to think there was a whole town of adults just a few minutes’ walk past the front gate, all hearing him scream and howl once a month.

“That’s where it started.” Madame Pomfrey seemed relieved to have someone to talk to about the whole thing. She was finally starting to look comfortable in her chair. “At least we think. One of the bartenders down at the Three Broomsticks just got back from visiting family in the south of India and it’s wicked common there. Local ministry can’t eradicate it because just about anyone who gets Warbling Cough conjures up Occamies instead of nonmagical birds, so it’s not as deadly.”

“What’s an Occamy?”

She scarcely seemed to hear him. “So to make a long story short, we shut down Hogsmeade last night — nobody in or out — and we’re checking all of you students today and then next week we’re just going to send anybody who’s already been exposed home for the holidays. Unless they want to stay, I suppose. By the time classes start up, the infection should have died out.”

“So you’re not letting any of us go home?” Remus tried to keep his face from falling. Ever since he’d broken down last month, he’d been trying not to look like a crybaby in front of Madame Pomfrey. “And since I told people I hadn’t had Warbling Cough, that includes me.”

“Yes,” Pomfrey said sadly, “unfortunately, it’s less suspicious that way. After Christmas, I’ll give you a few Keep-Koughing Lozenges so you can look plausibly ill, and then before the full moon you can just duck off to the hospital wing and I’ll bring you down to the Shack. If you want, you could actually hang out in the wing afterward — I’ll conjure you some canaries or something so you fit in.”

“Yeah, sure.” Remus wanted to be anywhere but there. If only Apparition was a first-year lesson.

“I’m sorry, Remus.” Pomfrey must have been picking up on a little of what was in his face. “I wish it was different. But these Healers are right to be strict. St. Mungo’s has sent over half of its entire team of Healers because Warbling Cough is a serious illness. If this were to get out of the castle into the general population—“

“Wait.” Something she had said set the werewolf part of his brain barking. “The Healers. They’re from St. Mungo’s?”

“Well, where else?”

Remus suddenly remembered telling Sirius last night that he didn’t recognize the wizards in lime green robes — the wizards who, allegedly, were taking time out of helping his mother not die to be here.

He didn’t even remember rushing back out through the curtain, the other Gryffindors all turning to look at him. They probably thought he was dying. What idiots. He was just living — living and failing and suffering, one month at a time.

* * *

Dinner came and went as Remus sulked through the halls, trying to avoid Sirius. He had rushed down to the kitchens the instant he realized he was hungry, and made it out of harm’s way right before the parade of students came tramping down toward the Great Hall.

How could he have been so stupid not to think the Healers were from St. Mungo’s? He knew there was a deadly, dangerous disease running rampant in the castle, and he was stupid enough to open his mouth and say the truth instead of thinking for one second to protect the truth of the even deadlier, even more dangerous disease running through his veins.

He was on the third floor now, by the Charms corridor. With the week over, and everyone presumably still unnerved by their examinations earlier in the day, he’d been able to wander uninterrupted. It must have been almost 9, but he still couldn’t bring himself to go back upstairs.

Objectively, he knew staying down here and avoiding Sirius was worse. For all he knew, the other boy didn’t even remember what Remus had said about the Healers. But he couldn’t stop imagining the alternative.

“I thought you said you didn’t know who the wizards in the green robes were,” Sirius would say. “I thought you were going to St. Mungo’s every month. That’s what you told me.”

“And me.” James was there now, but that made sense. He had told both of them, thinking they both found the other too irritating to associate with, and then he’d come back from the Shrieking Shack and found them both giggling about shared secrets and hoarding pastries they’d pilfered together. “You told me the same thing, Remus. But if you were going to St. Mungo’s you’d know who they were. Wouldn’t you?”

“So where are you really going, Remus?”

“Where are you going every month?”

“Why won’t you tell us?”

“What’s your secret?”

“What’s wrong with you?”

“What are you doing down here?”

It took Remus a minute to realize that last one wasn’t in his imagination. He opened his eyes to see Peter Pettigrew looking down at him. He’d been sitting up against the wall, head between his knees, eyes clenched tight to keep the tears from coming out.

“Peter,” he said. “I didn’t—I’m just sitting here.”

“I mean,” Peter said hesitantly, “yes. But you’re on the ground. And alone. And crying?”

“I’m not.” Remus wiped his face dry quickly, as if Peter wasn’t going to notice. “I just needed some fresh air.”

“But Remus… we’re inside.”

“Not fresh air. Just. Space. Space away. From everybody.”

The boy standing over him bit his lip, looking unsure. “Is this about the Warbling Cough? I heard kids who hadn’t gotten sick before were going to have to stay here for the holidays…”

“Yes.” Remus grabbed onto the lie for dear life. “I was gonna go home. See my parents. I was really, really excited to spend some time with them. And now…”

The lie wasn’t going to work of course. Peter was going to ask him why he was excited. And then he was going to have to tell the lie about his mum being in St. Mungo’s. Except then Peter was going to ask why he wanted to spend time with them, if he was seeing them every month or so. So then he was going to have to come up with some other lie. And they were just going to build and build…

“That sucks,” Peter said, crouching down next to him. “I’m not going to see my mum at all this Christmas. She and my dad…well, it’s complicated. So I don’t know if I even want to see him.”

“I’m sorry,” Remus said. He meant it. But he could also sense Peter wanting to talk. And if Peter talked about his stuff, Remus didn’t have to tell another lie yet. “So you don’t know if you’re going home yet?”

“I was gonna decide tonight,” Peter said. “Sit and think about it. I want to see him. But I’m not sure…”

Peter trailed off, and Remus saw it all falling apart again.

“You can tell me about it, Peter. Please. We’re friends, aren’t we? Friends are supposed to be there for stuff like this.”

His face half-brightened, and Remus knew he had him.

“Alright,” Peter said. “But not here, in the hall. Is that okay? I know a place — a great place. A fantastic place. It’s sort of like my little hiding spot.”

“Lead the way,” Remus said, getting to his feet. “I’m always game to find a new Hogwarts surprise. Is this like the trophy room that moves?”

“Believe me,” Peter said. “It’s _way_ better than the trophy room that doesn’t move.”

* * *

“Jeez, Peter,” Remus said, staring around the room in awe. “How long have you been hiding this from everyone?”

He had to admit, he’d felt a bit of wariness the moment Peter smiled and stepped through the brick wall off the Charms corridor. But when Remus had cautiously poked his head through, he’d just about fallen over. Peter had an entire sitting room made up in there — couches, pillows, the works, all lit by candlelight. There was even music, somehow — Peter was standing by a turntable with a cheeky grin, dropping the needle on what sounded like the Kinks, of all things.

“I stumbled onto it our first week here, trying to dodge some prefects.” Peter went to one of the chairs and sat down, perfectly comfortable and maybe even a bit smug. “I’m sort of unlucky about them finding me when I’m out, it seems, but finding this place evens it out karmically.”

“No kidding.” Remus collapsed onto a couch, his own problems totally forgotten. “And nobody can hear all this?” He leaned backward, looking at the way he came in, and saw the hallway beyond was all fuzzed out.

“That’s the great thing,” Peter said. “Totally soundproof. I can make as much noise as I want and none of it leaks out. None the other way either.”

“This is wicked, Peter.” He was looking at the mousy boy in a whole new light. “I have got to give you props. I had no idea you had this in you.”

“Well, that was sort of the point,” Peter said sheepishly. “I don’t really want anyone to know I have this. It’s sort of my space where I can just…think about stuff. And relax.”

“But not talk,” Remus said pointedly. “Because no one else knows about this place, do they?”

“No, definitely not,” Peter said. “My dad says it’s important to have secret places. Gives you an advantage over everyone else.”

“That’s—” Remus just barely stopped himself from telling Peter his dad was weird. “So was all this stuff here when you found the place?”

“Everything except the record player. That was a present from my dad.”

“It’s really cool.” Remus got up to look closely at it. There was no stereo attached, just the turntable, but the sound seemed to be coming from everywhere all at once. He’d never heard “Village Green” quite like this. “It’s a Muggle turntable, right? He didn’t build it from scratch.”

“Right. Not really sure how he did it. Seems like it’s a couple different charms — one to spin the record, one to amplify the sound? I’ve been trying to read up on it but there’s not anything in the library specifically about enchanting Muggle artefacts, at least not that I can find. My dad says it’s not particularly encouraged.”

“Your dad seems—” Cool wasn’t really the word. Unusual, maybe. Remus settled for “—interesting. How come you’re not sure about going home for the holidays?”

Peter hesitated. He seemed to be weighing a great many pros and cons in his mind. “My parents are separating,” he finally said. “Well, separated. Literally at least. My mum bailed the day I went to Hogwarts and ran off somewhere on the continent with her Muggle boyfriend.”

“Holy hell.” That was a _lot_. “So she just, what, dropped you off at the train station and then went home and packed her bags? What happened?”

“I don’t really know,” Peter admitted. “I’ve only gotten the one letter from her, since I got here, and…well, I haven’t written her back. And I haven’t gotten any more since.”

Remus felt like he should get Peter a barrel of sweets from the kitchen, all of a sudden. It was no “I’m a child werewolf,” but this was way more than he thought Peter could possibly be dealing with. “So you just haven’t talked to your mum since this happened? How come you haven’t written her back?”

“Because I don’t know how I feel about all this.” Peter looked surprised that he was still talking to Remus. “She didn’t give me any reason why she left, and my dad hasn’t either, not in any of the letters he sent. I only started writing back to him because…well, he just kept writing and writing, and I missed him, and I knew he wasn’t going to stop writing me letters whether I wrote back or not.

“So I did. And we’ve been talking a bit, about school and his work. But not about him and my mum. And now I don’t know if I want to go back for the holidays and just…be home. Without her.”

Neither of them said anything for a little while. Peter was refusing to look up, curled into the chair like he’d done something wrong. Remus was just thinking — trying to figure out what he could say next. And all around, Peter’s father’s magical turntable kept playing.

As the side finally ran to a close, silence filled the room. So Remus deliberately broke it. “Look, I’m no good at this — my parents have been through no end of trouble, but they’re still together, despite it all. But I know what it is like to feel…to have something you don’t know how to say to your parents.

“But it’s better to be saying something to them than nothing at all. And I think, maybe…whatever you decide about going home…you need to think about writing back to your mum. I haven’t written to my parents a lot since I got here, but every time I do I know that I’ll hear from both of them. And I can’t imagine not hearing from my mum, or my dad, for months. Knowing they were out there, and not having any idea what they were doing or why they had to do it…that wouldn’t be good.”

“I guess,” Peter said. “I just…I don’t understand why she did any of this. I know I should just ask her, but…”

Remus thought of all the times he had _almost_ asked his dad a question about how he got bitten, or why. “But it’s hard to talk to your parents about grown-up stuff. They should just know to tell you when you need it.”

“Yes!” Peter nearly shouted. “That’s it. That’s exactly it.”

“Well, I know I hope you stick around for the holidays, whatever you decide about your mom and dad,” Remus said, surprised to hear himself mean it. “I know we’ll probably all end up with Warbling Cough, but this would be a great place to ride out the holidays. And of course it’d be great to just… hang out. No classes hanging over our heads, no Slytherin drama—”

“No older students to boss us around and make us feel stupid because we don’t know all 12 uses of dragon’s blood or where anything is in the castle?”

“ _Exactly_.” Remus could see a little bit of it now — the holidays, here, as good as going home. Maybe even a little better. After all, home was just where his parents were. Hogwarts? That was on its way to becoming something very different.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warbling Cough is, of course, based on whooping cough -- but is, I hope, a bit more memorable. Though things do not bode well for our jinxed Defense Against the Dark Arts educator...
> 
> Next up, our holiday finale! Thanks for reading, everyone!


	14. Twist and Shout

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> James, Sirius, Remus and Peter are the only Gryffindor first-year boys left in the castle for Christmas. Maybe they should, like, hang out and form an iconic friendship or something?

The first day of the Christmas holidays, James coughed himself awake to find a small wren looking quizzically back at him.

He jumped instinctively, another coughing fit taking him as he fell back, half tumbling out of bed. Luckily, he realized, he was the only first-year left in the dorm. Jack and Nabin had left yesterday — the latter getting last-minute clearance from the Healers who were still parading about the castle — and Sirius, Remus and Peter must have already gotten up. Probably woken by his cough of death, no doubt.

The Warbling Cough had hit James hard. He hadn’t been sick much as a kid — his parents practically wrapped him in Spell-O-Tape anytime they heard even a hint that someone in the adjoining counties had a head cold, much less Godric’s Hollow itself. But if this is what he should have been expecting, his parents were right to be worried. His head wasn’t too foggy, at least, and he wasn’t feeling much pain. But his chest was tight, all the time, and his voice had become so low that he couldn’t say a word to anyone over 13 without getting a hundred mocking jokes about his balls dropping.

The castle was only about half-full, he guessed. He was one of the only pure-bloods who was actually here because he was sick. He’d thought it would be jolly fun, he and Remus and Sirius having the castle to themselves, but the Healers hadn’t left and they and the prefects that remained were all on sharp watch for anyone to start showing the final symptoms — like that wren of his.

“As Dumbledore and Madame Pomfrey have said, Warbling Cough is not a true danger for any of you who are left,” Fabian had told them Saturday night, before the lucky few who got to leave went upstairs to pack their trunks. “But to be sure, the Healers will be remaining here in the castle and looking out for us all. Once you begin coughing up birds, we ask that you voluntarily check yourself into the hospital wing. Otherwise one of us will be required to do it for you.”

James had no interest in being cooped up in a hospital bed all through Christmas, though. So he quickly scooped up the wren, cracked a window, and sent it fluttering out into the cold December sky. They didn’t last long before vanishing again, but he liked the idea of it getting to experience being a proper bird for a little while.

The common room was full of students when he went down, but the only one he really knew was Sirius, sitting alone at a table with one of the better wizard’s chess sets in front of him. While the snootiest of the first-year girls had left, the ones who remained had loudly decided last night that they were going to use the holidays to get to know each other better, “NO BOYS ALLOWED.” Whatever.

“You’re supposed to play chess with someone else, you know,” James said, though the effect of his remark was slightly muted by the raspiness of his voice.

“Oh, go over there and cough up an albatross,” Sirius said, not even bothering to look up. “When everyone gets back from break I want to be able to finally beat Nabin at a game. Little prat’s making me look like an idiot.”

“Every time you play chess in the common room, it just reminds everyone that you’re the guy who got his chess set attached to the ceiling. You know that, don’t you?”

“Bite me.” Sirius moved a bishop forward, and then grimaced as the opposing side’s knight galloped in out of nowhere and shattered it. “How’s the cough?”

“Terrible,” James said. “I woke up this morning with a wren staring me right in the face. Just about jumped out of my skin.”

“Yeah, I thought I heard my 98-year-old gran screaming from the dorms a few minutes ago.”

James kicked him under the table, but it didn’t stop Sirius.

“Serves you right. You kept the three of us up half the night coughing. Remus said he was going down to the library later to see if he could find a textbook that explained how Silencing Charms work.”

“Surprised he hasn’t done that already, the way you snore.” Another coughing fit came out of nowhere, derailing his point.

“You know you’re supposed to be in the infirmary. That’s, what, the second time you’ve spit a bird out?”

“Third,” James replied. “You missed the first one, when I was getting out of the shower on Saturday.”

“Oh right,” Sirius said. “I remember hearing you and the others shouting about something. Didn’t it fly in Peter’s face or something?”

“No, it was Jack. I was so close to him not being a giant git to me but now I have a stupid bird-conjuring disease.”

“Dammit!” One of the opposing bishops cut its way across the board, pinning down all of Sirius’s main pieces. “This is exactly what happened with Nabin the last time we played.”

“Hey,” James interjected. “You know where Remus is?”

“He went down to breakfast with Peter. An hour or two ago, maybe? Figured they’d be back by now but they’ve both been acting kind of weird lately. After the whole Warbling Cough outbreak thing, Remus didn’t say anything to me for something like a week.”

“Yeah, I remember that.” James had his suspicions about all that — Remus hadn’t brought up his mum lately, but the Healers who were roaming the halls were from St. Mungo’s, so they probably reminded him of the place. But there was no point in bringing all that up again, since he wanted to keep that a secret, it seemed.

“I think I’m going to head down then,” he said between coughs. “See if they’ve started lunch yet.”

“I wouldn’t, if I were you,” Sirius said, lowering his voice. “Blake and Denis came back a few minutes ago, complained that there’s Healers lurking all about, waiting for someone to show symptoms worse than your cough. They said Rebecca Broadmour got lifted right out of her seat when she started arguing with one of them. Carried her kicking and screaming all the way to the hospital wing, and her little bird too.”

“Yikes,” James said. “Straight to the kitchens it is. Want me to bring you back anything?”

“No thanks,” Sirius said, tipping over his king in surrender. “I’m gonna stay here and keep practicing. I’ll probably get myself a late lunch and then pop up to the Owlery for a bit. Want to get my brother his present before my parents drag him off to Drumstrang.”

“Ugh,” James spat. “Can you even imagine? It’s cold enough up here, and we only have to worry about a handful of Dark wizards coming out of this place, instead of a whole graduating class.”

“Hey, that’s not thinking like a member of the Noble and Ancient House of Black,” Sirius snickered, as the board reassembled itself in front of him. “If you haven’t been responsible for the death of at least one Muggle or blood traitor by the time you turn 50, your portrait starts to shrink on the family tapestry.”

“Merlin, I hope you’re kidding.” James got up from the table, and cast an eye over the assembled pieces. “Try mixing up your starting move,” he said. “You always open up space for your bishop to sneak out right away, but then it gets taken too fast. You should sacrifice more of your pawns first.”

“Bloody hell,” Sirius said. “That’s actually a good idea. Sort of brutal, but smart. You’re a better Black than I am.”

“Ouch,” James said, mockingly pantomiming an arrow to the heart. “This hurts worse than the Warbling Cough. Perhaps I’d best go to the infirmary after all.”

They both laughed for a long while at that. It was worth the ache in James’s chest after.

* * *

Regulus was always terrible to shop for. He was even more particular about his clothes than Sirius, preferred books to toys, and already had subscriptions to all the good Quidditch mags. In the end, Sirius had sent off for a few boxes of chocolate from Honeydukes, down in the village. He could send one or two off to Regulus and be done with it.

Plus, then he had some for himself. After all, his mother certainly wasn’t sending him any treats this year.

He’d wrapped up the chocolate in back issues of _Martin Miggs_ that he didn’t mind sacrificing on Regulus earlier in the afternoon. Now all that was left was to hop up to the Owlery, visit with Diana a bit, and then send them off. Happy Christmas.

The reason he hadn’t told James for wanting to send the present early was to make sure Regulus thought to send something back. Sirius didn’t think his brother would forget about him out of meanness — but he could imagine how things were at the house. His mother would rant and rave about anything she hated, except when it came to him or Regulus. When she was mad at one of them, it was like they were dead to her. Regulus might not know whether he was even allowed to send Sirius a present. But he probably would at least slip him something if he felt obligated to.

He had the package tucked into his bag, leaving his hands free to hold the bluebell flames he’d conjured close to his body. The temperature in the West Tower had dipped far below freezing, even if the seemingly ever-present winds had stilled for the past few days. He’d planned on spending a little time with Diana — he’d been neglecting her, the poor dear — but she had a thick coat of feathers. Maybe he’d just trust that she had made friends with all the other owls and be done with it.

All of a sudden, as he approached the entrance, he stopped. There were voices ahead, shouting.

“What do you think? Should we open it?”

“Give it back t’ me!” That one sounded familiar.

“Aww, Jared, I think we’ve hurt his feelings.”

“I don’t know, Garrett, it doesn’t seem like he wants it that bad.”

“That’s mine! It’s my Christmas gift!”

Sirius peeked around the corner just enough to see what was happening. As he had suspected, one of the students was Peter — the squeak had been practically unmistakable. He was being repeatedly shoved back by a taller boy with reddish hair in a buzzcut, who seemed to be holding two wands in his right fist. Another boy, with wavy brown hair halfway to his shoulders, was holding a thin, square parcel high up in the air, occasionally lowering it a little closer to Peter’s hands.

“This one’s feistier than the usual firstie, Jared,” said the first kid, shoving Peter back once again. “Must’ve gotten something really good for Christmas this year.”

“I dunno what it could be,” the other boy — Jared — replied. “Maybe a picture of his mummy to hang in his room.”

For some reason, that really seemed to enrage Peter, who lunged straight for Jared but was deflected by a shove from Garrett. He tumbled to the ground with a bang, startling the owls above into panicked flight.

In the moment of confusion, Sirius made a decision. He squashed the blue flames down into his left fist, then drew his wand from his sleeve. Pretending not to notice how much his hands were shaking, he stepped all the way into the Owlery.

“Hey! Arseholes! Give ‘im his present back, or I’ll hex you both!”

The two boys were momentarily startled, but seemed to relax as soon as they recognized him. “Hey, look. It’s the blood traitor Black. What’s the matter, bud, grumpy because mummy wouldn’t let you come home for Christmas?”

“You heard me,” Sirius said, voice quivering. “Give it back.”

“Oh please,” Garrett said, as Jared lowered the parcel and began looking back and forth at both Sirius and Peter. He took one of the wands out of his hand and held it loosely at his side. “You’re terribly outnumbered, and about to be terribly wandless. _Expelliarmus!_ ”

There was a bright flash, and Sirius felt his wand slip from his grasp, pinwheeling upward. But he’d been expecting that.

He shifted his weight and swung his left arm forward, throwing the bluebell flames at Jared and Garrett. They connected with both, setting their robes ablaze in an instant.

Screaming, the boys dropped everything and scurried over to the owls’ water basin across the room, cursing in panic. Sirius looked up to tell Peter to run, but the boy was already doing it, bending quickly to pick up his package and their wands as he scuttled across the room.

They ran together then, heedless of the other boys’ shouts. Sirius had expected them to be startled but not nearly so panicked. He imagined they would be quite angry when they realized that the bluebell flames couldn’t actually burn their skin.

Sirius and Peter finally stopped running when they got down to the fourth floor corridor, pulling themselves back into one of the dead-end halls on the way to the hospital wing. There were a half-dozen Healers milling about in the corridor, so even if the two boys did follow them all the way down here there was no way they’d cause a scene.

“Thanks,” Peter said between gasps for air. “Those two—Slytherins—they were there when I got up to the Owlery. Think they were hoping to just take a bunch of packages going out for Christmas.”

“Bunch of wankers. ‘Course they would be Slytherins.” Maybe Regulus wasn’t getting his Christmas present after all.

“This whole castle feels weird, ever since everybody left,” Peter said. “I mean, most of the prefects have a stick up their arse, but without them it seems like everything’s just a little…crazy.”

“I guess,” Sirius said. “Still, it’s nice to know I can probably get out of the tower without getting caught for being out past curfew, eh?”

“Yeah, that’s true.”

“What did you get, anyway… if you don’t mind me asking?”

Peter took a second to think before he responded. He was always doing that, Sirius realized. “Gift from my dad. It’s a record.”

“A record what?”

Peter looked at him like he was stupid. “A Muggle record. Y’know… like for music.”

“Oh, of course.” Sirius had been sort of aware that Muggles listened to their “popular music” somehow, but he’d never really thought much about how it worked without magic. He was having trouble imagining how such a thin square package could make noise. “I thought your parents were both wizards, though.”

“They are,” Peter said, slowly. “But my dad’s always collecting this stuff. He got me started on it too. I’m guessing this is just another record that I can add to my collection — not that I can listen to it here.”

“No, of course not.” Why couldn’t he listen to it here? Were Muggle records not allowed in Hogwarts?

“Anyway… thanks.” Peter looked down at the wands in his hand, and offered Sirius’s back to him. He noticed that Peter was holding a third wand too, one he didn’t recognize.

“That must be one of those boys’ wands,” Sirius said, as Peter slid his own back up his sleeve. “What are you going to do with it?”

Peter scarcely hesitated before going to the window, unshuttering it, and tossing the wand out into the courtyard below.

“He’ll find it eventually,” he said, in response to Sirius’s stunned expression. “Thanks again for helping me out.” He smiled, then headed down the nearest stairwell.

It occurred to Sirius that perhaps he had underestimated little Peter Pettigrew.

* * *

When Peter told the story to Remus later that night, the younger boy couldn’t stop laughing.

“I can’t believe you just pitched his wand right out the window,” Remus said, his giggles finally subsiding. “He’s probably going to hunt you down and murder you.”

“I guess you’re right,” Peter admitted. “But it was either that or break it on the spot. At least this way there’s a slightly smaller chance I don’t earn a blood enemy for the rest of my life.”

“Good point,” Remus said, reaching for his glass. He’d pinched a bit of juice from the kitchens somehow and brought it up to the Cavern. It was the sort of thing Peter appreciated about Remus — he was always thinking about how to improve a situation and then figuring out how to do it.

“I should probably start leaving him some clues or something. Otherwise you’re right, he’ll be stalking me the whole holiday, thinking I still have it.”

“Make them nice and simple,” Remus said. “You know Slytherins — big on jinxing, little on ‘thinksing.’”

Peter laughed at that one too.

“I’m glad you decided to stay,” Remus said, finally. “I know there’s all sorts of stuff going on for you at home, but… really, that’s all the more reason to be here, right?”

“Agreed,” Peter said, not sure if he meant it. Part of him still wished he had gotten on the Hogwarts Express with all the others. But in the end, he just couldn’t do it. Maybe the Easter holiday. Not Christmas.

Remus idly looked over at the clock on the wall — and jumped in surprise. “Merlin’s beard, it’s practically nine. I’ve got to run.”

_(No, not yet!)_

“What, already?” Peter stood up a second after Remus, following him closer to the entrance. “I figured we could just hang out until curfew or so and then head back together?”

Remus’s face fell. “I’d love to, Peter, but I promised James and Sirius I’d meet them back in the common room in time for the Australian League qualifier to come on the wireless. Apparently there’s a chance the Baw Baw Boomerangs are going to knock off the Thunderers for the first time in a century…or something.”

“Oh.”

“Why don’t you come with? It’d be sort of nice to hang out, all of us Gryffindor guys. Plus Sirius is gonna try and get the girls to come down from their self-imposed quarantine. He already saw Lily slipping out to check on Snape.”

_(I can think of nothing I would want to do less than listen to Australian Quidditch commentary all night.)_

“No, that’s alright, Remus. I’ll probably just stay down here for a bit.”

“Suit yourself,” Remus said, poking his head through the wall quickly to check that the coast was clear. “You know, Peter, I get the impulse to have your own space, I really do. But what you’ve made here, this ‘Cavern’… I think it shouldn’t just be a secret. Or at least…not a secret from your friends.”

“Friends?” Peter said, without thinking. “You’re the closest thing to a friend I have here at Hogwarts.”

“Come on, Peter,” Remus said, sharply. “You and I both know that isn’t true. Or it wouldn’t be if you weren’t so closed off.”

“I’m not closed off, I’m just—”

“You’re just what? Secretive? Private? Me too, Peter. But I’m trying to be better about it. And I think you should too. What about James? Isn’t he your friend? And Sirius literally stepped up for you _today_. You act like nobody here likes you except me. And any time I talk about anyone but you, you get this look on your face, like I’ve betrayed you.”

Remus stopped abruptly, caught off guard by his own words, and then fled backward through the door. Peter watched him standing there, looking at the blank wall as if waiting for Peter to rush out screaming back at him.

_(That was definitely not happening.)_

Peter just stood there, watching, until Remus gave up and walked away.

He knew Remus was right. He knew he should open up more, be more trusting. But he could hear his dad’s voice in his head, warning him.

“You scarcely know these boys, Peter. Telling Remus was already risky enough. Now he wants to expose your secret to more people. You have no reason to trust any of them. You have to fix your mistake.”

_(But what if he didn’t want to fix it? What if it wasn’t a mistake?)_

For the first time in ages, he wondered what his mum would say.

* * *

Remus knew he shouldn’t have blown up at Peter like that. He felt sick about it all through the wireless broadcast, especially when Peter came back and went straight upstairs without looking at any of them.

The worst part was that he knew it wasn’t about Peter at all. It was about himself. James, Sirius and Peter were all so nice to him. They all liked him. They were all letting him into their lives.

And he was keeping the deepest, truest part of himself to himself.

Sure, it might have been the most monstrous too. But it was still who he was, as much as he hated it. The Remus the other three thought that they knew was a lie.

Remus didn’t see Peter for most of the next day. He was gone when he and Sirius had finally gotten sick of hearing James cough and started throwing pillows at him to wake him up. He wasn’t in the common room, or at breakfast. Which meant he was probably in the Cavern, still angry at Remus.

And then, when he was sitting in the library, trying to read more about Warbling Cough so he could better imitate its symptoms, there was Peter, all of a sudden just there.

“I should have known you’d be in the library,” Peter said. “I don’t know why I didn’t just start here.”

“Hey…” Remus said, shutting _De Magica Medica_ and pushing it across the table so Peter couldn’t see the spine. “Where’ve you been? I looked for you a little earlier and…”

“I know, I know, I’m sorry.” Peter somehow looked happy and terrified at the same time.

“You don’t have to be sorry,” Remus said. “I should be apologizing. You don’t have to tell anyone about…well…”

“Hold that thought.” Peter said. He pulled a set of small envelopes out of his bag and set them on the table in front of Remus. “Can you give these to James and Sirius for me?”

“I guess…” Remus studied the envelopes. They looked to be hand-folded, and sealed shut with red wax. Where did Peter even find red wax?

“Great. There’s one for you in there too. I’ve got to dash, but I’ll see you tonight.”

Remus didn’t even have time to ask Peter what he was on about before the boy was gone, rushing back through the stacks. Shaking his head back and forth, he flipped the envelopes. There was nothing on the front but their full names, written in a cursive that bordered on calligraphic.

Picking up the one labeled “Remus Lupin,” he turned it back over and split the seal with his thumbnail. To his surprise, the whole envelope unfolded as he opened it, stretching out to a rectangular sheet of paper. An invitation, he realized.

_Remus Lupin,_

_You are invited to a private celebration of the Christmas holidays. Festivities will begin promptly at 7 p.m. Instead of attending dinner in the Great Hall, please depart Gryffindor Tower and descend to the Charms corridor. When all of you arrive, you will receive further instructions on how to enter the party location._

_See you there!_

_Peter Pettigrew_

_P.S.: Remus — Don’t ruin the surprise!_

The invitation was ridiculous, preposterous, foolish and incredibly earnest. Remus loved it.

* * *

“So,” James said, coughing between every couple of words, “remind me again why we are coming down to the Charms corridor instead of getting a delicious dinner?”

“Come on, James Potter,” Sirius replied. “Did you not know that Peter Pettigrew has invited you to a formal soiree? I myself, Sirius Black, am highly honored to be in the company of Messrs. James Potter and Remus Lupin for such a gathering.”

Laughing hurt a little, but James didn’t cough up any more tiny birds so he let it hurt. Merlin’s beard, he hoped he was on the way out of this Warbling Cough.

“Come on, Sirius.” Remus looked like he was chewing glass. He’d been terribly insistent that James and Sirius take Peter up on his extremely fancy dinner party, and didn’t seem to agree with either of them that the other boy was exceedingly over the top. “It’ll be fun. I promise.”

“There is gonna be food though, right?” Sirius looked particularly concerned about this point. “After the dinner we had last night, I don’t want to skip another pre-Christmas meal unless we’re getting something equally as good or better.”

“I’m guessing Remus must have told him about the entrance to the kitchens too,” James said. “You did, right, Remus?”

“I didn’t,” Remus said softly. “But he must have found dinner somehow.”

“Great,” Sirius said. “We’re going to a dinner party with no dinner. Real cool, Remus. So glad you talked us into this.”

“You guys—”

“Seriously, Remus,” James said. “Peter is nice. But we don’t actually have to hang out with him just because he’s the only other Gryffindor boy our age left in the castle.”

“That’s not—”

“Have you noticed how he is always sneaking off places by himself?” Sirius said to James, continuing to ignore Remus’s outbursts as they walked. “I mean, I like a little alone time in the castle too, but I also like having friends. Especially friends who don’t make me skip dinner for no reason.”

“Guys!”

James and Sirius both stopped, realizing that Remus had already done so a few steps back. He was looking back at them in a way that reminded James of his mother, complete with one hand on his hip.

“Stop walking,” he said. “We’re here.”

James and Sirius both looked around quizzically. As far as James could tell, there was nothing and no one there. Just the entrances to the Charms classrooms and the doorway to Professor O’Brien’s office. “Alright, so we’re here,” he said, looking over at Sirius to see if he was equally as confused. “But I don’t know what we should be looking for…”

“Over here.”

James turned back to look at Remus—and Peter was suddenly sticking half his body through the wall, waving.

One startled coughing fit later, the two chicks bouncing around the corridor made them a very confused party of six.

* * *

“Huffing Hippogriffs, Peter,” Sirius gasped. “How the hell are you doing that?”

“Surprise,” Peter said, giggling to himself as he stepped all the way out into the hall. Sirius could see a smile playing across Remus’s face. Suddenly he was back in the Hieroglyphs Hall, petrified.

Not this time.

“Alright, I don’t know what this is,” Sirius started, whipping out his wand — but then Remus and Peter put their hands up in surprise, and James was coughing and looking at him like he was crazy.

“Jesus, Sirius, put that away,” Remus said. “Have you been hexed? It’s just Peter.”

“Let’s hear them out first,” James said. “Then we can decide if we want to mess their faces up.”

“There’s nothing to hear out!” Peter was suddenly looking very confused, and a little upset. “It’s a party!”

Sirius suddenly realized he was pointing a wand at the only people in the castle who would still talk to him. It was a weird feeling — like they were the ones who had drawn on him instead, and if he made the wrong move…

“Sorry,” he said, quickly sliding his wand up his sleeve. “I just…I’m sorry. You startled me, coming out of the wall. That’s all.”

“Oh,” Peter said, cheering right up. “Well yeah, it’s a trick wall. Come on! You can go through with me so you know it’s cool.”

“Um, sure.” Remus and James were watching him carefully now, neither one seeming to know what to do.

Sirius walked past them anyway, standing next to Peter, staring straight at the wall.

“If I walk into this wall and it’s solid enough to hurt,” he said, “you’re all spending the holidays in the hospital wing, Warbling Cough or no Warbling Cough.”

Sirius took two steps forward—

And on the third, his ears were slammed with a noise he’d never heard before: raucous, percussive rhythms, and the voices of men, shout-singing in unison, all coming from everywhere and nowhere at once.

It was such a shock it took Sirius a moment to realize that he was in a totally new space, lit by warm candlelight. It was a wide, rectangular chamber, with a bookshelf tucked into the corner, couches lining the walls, and pillows strewn all about. In the center of the room, there was a small ottoman, on top of which was a strange flat box with a spinning disc on top. And just past that—

“Food!” Sirius gasped, staring at the low table filled with all of the entrees he’d been looking forward to downstairs — roast beef, pasties and pies of all sorts, sausages, towering towers of vegetables, and what appeared to be a large jug of butterbeer.

“Sirius,” he heard James say from behind him. “you are the only person I know who would walk into a secret chamber and get excited that there was dinner inside.”

Peter giggled happily. “I got it all from the kitchens! I knew there had to be a way in because the older students are always talking about going down there. So I asked a couple of portraits for some advice, and eventually they pointed me in the right direction! You know that big painting of fruit just off the Great Hall, on the way to the basement?”

“Erm…I think so,” Sirius said, giving Remus a sidelong look.

“All you have to do is tickle the pear, and it turns into a doorknob! Funny, isn’t it? There’s a whole bunch of house elves in there and they’re very nice. They said if I was having a party I should take all this stuff, especially the butterbeer. They even sent it up here for me so I didn’t have to carry it through the castle — some snapping trick with their fingers.”

“This place is amazing,” James said, before Peter could continue to expound on the delightful qualities of house-elves. “And totally closed off from the hall. How did you even find it, Peter?”

“Dumb luck,” the other boy said, walking over to the flat box. He adjusted something on the side and the music in the room got quieter. “I was out of bounds one night, trying to get away from a prefect. And I just leaned against the wall when I realized I was in a dead end and—the rest is history, I guess.”

“So you’ve had this little place to yourself for, what, weeks?” Sirius asked. It beat the hell out of his bell tower, especially now that it was below zero up there practically every time he’d tried to go up.

“Months,” Peter said. There was a touch of pride in his voice. “It was sort of my own place — my own secret. But Remus convinced me it was worth sharing.”

“Wait, Remus—“ Another coughing fit cut James off, and Peter rushed over to the table.

“Here, here, have some of this.” Peter had the top off the Butterbeer in a second, and was pouring a glass for James. “The house-elves said this would be good for your throat. Can’t see why everyone isn’t drinking it, then.”

“Because it’s Butterbeer,” Sirius laughed, as James quickly drank down his portion. “Give me some, I think I feel a cough coming on.”

Remus and Peter gave him an odd look. “The house-elves wouldn’t have just…given us _real_ beer.” Remus said. “That seems stupid.”

“Merlin’s beard, you two are the worst half-bloods,” Sirius said. “Butterbeer’s just a little…relaxing. Seth — I mean, Mulciber and I were always nicking it at holiday parties. You’ve got to drink an awful lot of it to actually get drunk.”

Peter went pale. “We’d better be careful then,” he said, holding up the jug. “The house-elf who gave this to me said it would just keep refilling all night.”

Sirius snatched it out of Peter’s hands before he could get any terrible, horrible ideas. “I think James and I had better be in charge of this for tonight then,” he said. “Since we’ve got more experience with it and all. Right, James?”

“Absolutely,” James said. His voice did sound better. “Capital idea.”

“Hand me a glass, Remus,” Sirius said. “Now, Peter, you’ve got to tell me what this fantastic music is, and how the little spinny box works.”

* * *

Peter was beginning to suspect Sirius had taken ownership of the Butterbeer to ensure they all got a little tipsy instead of the other way around — but he was having so much fun it was difficult for him to properly care.

The food — not enchanted the same way as the bottle of Butterbeer — was about half-gone. Peter was never one to gorge himself, but he had tonight without even thinking about it. He was used to popping down to lunch or dinner, sitting on the edge of a conversation, and heading off as soon as he’d eaten a little of this and a little of that.

But here, with Remus and James and Sirius all talking and cheering and eating, as the Beatles sang all around them, he felt at the center of everything. He was saying more than he thought he had at any meal since arriving to Hogwarts. James and Sirius were both fascinated by the record player — okay, Sirius more liked the music than the machine, but that was to be expected — and Remus just kept smiling at him.

_(He’s saying ‘I told you so,’ of course. But I honestly don’t care.)_

It was everything he had hoped for. Nothing he’d expected.

Peter could only imagine what his father would have said if he knew what was happening. But then his father would have to know about the Cavern. Peter hadn’t told him — following his father’s own recommendation, about secret places.

But he’d told his mother, now. Or he would be, as soon as Ringo made it to the continent. Peter had felt bad sending him off like that, with a five-page letter and some holiday chocolate he’d taken from the kitchen, but the little owl had looked so happy to see his mother’s name on the envelope. Or maybe that was Peter, projecting his own feelings onto Ringo.

Taking another sip of Butterbeer, he thought back on the last bit of his letter — after all the apologies for not writing and the details about his first term and his repeated reminders that he loved her but he did _not_ want to hear about her boyfriend yet. 

_I’m about to invite the other boys in my year down to the Cavern tonight, for a little party. I’m nervous as a Niffler about it. Remus seems to like me for sure, and both James and Sirius seem nice too. But there’s a difference between liking someone and wanting to be friends with them._

_But Remus was right. There are people out there, outside the Cavern, and I have no idea what they’re doing or why. If they’re going to like me or hate me. But I’m never going to find out in here. I’m just going to be alone._

_It’s hard to pick being happy instead of being safe. But it sounds like you’re doing it. I’m gonna try and do it too._

_Happy Christmas,_

_Peter_

* * *

Remus and the others were down there for hours, laughing and dancing and drinking, although finally that stopped after James hiccuped six starlings in a row.

“Come on, Remus,” Sirius protested as he pulled the jug out of his hands. “The rest of us are fine.”

“Nowe’renot,” Remus slurred. “We’re eleven and we’re _drunk_.”

“I’M TWELVE!” Sirius and Peter shouted simultaneously, breaking into giggles.

“Remus is right,” James said, fussing with the birds chirping at his feet. “This was a wonderful bad idea. Now get ridda this bottle before we actually get drunk.”

“It’s just Butterbeer,” Sirius protested as Remus shakily levitated the bottle up on top of the bookshelf. “‘Aven’t any a’ you nicked Butterbeer at the holidays before? There’s hardly any booze in it. Last Christmas, I had two glasses and just felt sorta tingly.”

“We have had _way_ more than two glasses apiece,” Remus said, collapsing into one of the armchairs. The spell had taken more out of him than he’d expected, but he’d never cast a spell drunk before. Hell, he’d never been drunk before at all.

“I’m glad you stayed for the holidays, Peter,” James said. “‘Specially since you have to spend it with all us sickos.”

“Thanks,” Peter said, grinning. “I’m glad you all stayed for the holidays, even though you’re all sick.”

“Hey,” Sirius interjected. “I am not sick. What I am is worse.”

“What’s that?” Remus said, well-knowing the answer.

“I’m the worst thing in the world for a member of the Noble and Ancient House of Black,” Sirius said, leaning in with a whisper. “I’m a…GRYFFINDOR!”

His friend sloshed his glass upward in a toast, spilling Butterbeer everywhere, but Remus and the others didn’t care. They laughed and toasted too, crying out with delight deep in the heart of Hogwarts.

Never, Remus thought to himself, never in my wildest dreams did I think a werewolf could be so happy.

* * *

* * *

* * *

It was the night after Christmas, and James was trying very, very hard not to wake his friends.

The note tucked into the pile of presents from his parents had been very explicit. It said not to tell anyone about the note.

It said to wait until after Christmas dinner, after everyone was in bed. And then, at the stroke of midnight, he was supposed to slip out of bed and climb the stairs to the top of the boy’s dorms.

Well, it was a little after midnight, but Remus and Sirius had been chattering away for what seemed like ages and James felt he couldn’t risk it. So he was creeping as quickly as possible, up one landing after another. As he went up, the rooms got noisier — the fourth years in particular might have been dueling — but once he reached the practically empty sixth-year floor a hush settled on the stairs.

There was no one there at the very top, a half-landing above the seventh-years’ chambers. There was just a small, thin window, letting in a shaft of three-quarter-full moonlight. But as James looked around, he heard a rapping on the windowpane.

He rushed over to see his father’s snowy owl, Demetrius, tapping on the glass with his beak. There was a package in his talons, a misshapen lump in brown paper wrappings. His secret present.

James swung the window open with a heart-stopping creak, and the owl fluttered in, cooing to itself as it landed.

“Hello there,” James said, gingerly bending down to nuzzle the bird. He’d never much cared for Demetrius — found the bird much too messy and ill-tempered — and even though he was finally getting over his Warbling Cough he was a bit over anything avian at the moment. “What’s so secret Dad can’t just send it to me like a normal present, huh?”

The bird flew off without warning, and James fell back and away, slamming down on the stones. Demetrius was gone before he could even turn around to shout after him.

“And a happy Christmas to you too, you lousy bird.” James gingerly got up and closed the window, before picking up the large parcel.

There was a small card on this one too, clearly his father’s writing.

_James,_

_I think you’ll understand my need for such subterfuge when you unwrap this particular present. Originally I had thought to share it with you when you turned of age, as my father did for me. Seventeen is a good year to be entrusted with responsibility, and there is a great deal that must come with this._

_But when your mother and I learned that you would be quarantined in Hogwarts for the holidays, I remembered my first few years in school — all the delights, and joys, and discoveries. And it occurred to me that there is much to be gained from a little irresponsibility as well._

_So congratulations, my wonderful number one son. You’re holding the only family treasure that comes anywhere close to you._

_Dad_

There was a little flutter in James’s chest. He ripped the paper open in a single tear, and a silvery waterfall of fabric tumbled out, pooling at his feet.

Or, more accurately, pooling at an empty space where his feet should have been.

“Well,” James said, barely daring to breathe, “this is certainly going to be a happy new year.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much to everyone who's read this fic, including the incomparable chchchchcherrybomb.(Thanks for giving me the idea to have Sirius help Peter in this chapter -- aka the missing link.) It's been fantastic to finally bring this crazy idea in my brain to life.
> 
> The story doesn't end here. The Marauders Mystery Tour will continue soon with So Darned Sorry, a tale of the boys' second year! Stay tuned...

**Author's Note:**

> Extra-attentive readers will probably have noticed my tiny little canon-divergent tweak to JKR's original Hogwarts Express scene... Expect a little less Snape/James animosity (for now)... and potentially bigger butterfly effects down the line.
> 
> Ideally, new chapters should be coming out every week or so. 
> 
> I'm a complete outsider artist when it comes to Marauders fic, so if you want to tell me what I'm doing wrong (or right?!) [.brand-new Tumblr is here.](https://qrimsonfic.tumblr.com/)


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